A Blade that Howls
by Gazizaty
Summary: AU. There are those among us still attempting to find 'Eden' in a hopeless, twisted, and tainted world. For those that try, they are a gift, and the end of humanity. (Heavily influenced by Wolf's Rain)
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, if you happen to know where this is from or read this before is because I actually posted this originally on Ao3 but decided to branch out and migrate the story here as well! I have not changed the story at all or anything, just decided to post the story NOW at two places. Sorry for any confusion!**  
**

* * *

**Prologue: First Steps**

"This looks like the place," the young man brought a crumpled paper to his view, torn slightly but legible. "Yeah."

His eyes focused and unfocused on the crude form of letters, and looked above at the building, as if it was mistake. With none to be found, he suddenly felt little confidence in himself. His heart sinking. Before him the words **Bad Weather** stood out upon the entrance of the nightclub. He imagined during the night, the signs would look intense, and insanely bright. Flickers and dazzling effects to lure any within sight; a moth to a flame.

_Perfect...now all I need to do is ace this interview, and I'm done here._

To sate his nervousness, he cautiously looked inside pass the windows, eyes peering over the darkness inside. He could spot the vinyl brown bar, and the various assortments associated with it. The chairs and bar stools flipped over on the surface of the furniture, as expected. The place seemed relatively clean, and...a little too quiet. He started to question if anyone was inside even, despite it being the lunch hours.

He knocked, the glass on the gold-rimmed door vibrating with each rap. Even the door seemed fragile to his touch, but he waited, several minutes passing. He tried again, this time with more force as the door shook. And again, no response. He hummed to himself, slightly irritated and backed away. A corner of the front window to inspect on. Idly, dust caught between his fingertips that he picked with. Musing, he stared into the abyss of the room once more, eyes squinting.

_Come on...I can't wait here all day!_

A nearby rustle distracted his emitted sigh, his attentions turning to the noise that lurked in the alley beside the club. A pair of grey, metal bins shivered, something obviously within or beside it, but he was too far away to quite grasp anything. He craned his neck, left and right, attempting to catch something. The bins shook again, louder.

He pursed his lips to a thin line, one short glance at the bar door, then strode over to the bins. Half expecting a rat, or a homeless person even, he was met with something far bigger yet...much more desolate looking, cowering in a corner.

"A dog? Here of all places?" he blinks, the creature doesn't seem to care about his presence.

More over, the beast curled, forming around itself as a sign of protection, ears twitched. Though the thick, black fur on its body was squalid, suggesting neglect, he was captivated by its sharp and auburn glaze that surrounded its pupils. Eyes that were narrow, and deadly. Eyes that pierced, right back into him.

The animal appeared to be in discomfort, but it would still hold a warning gaze.

He kept his distance, obviously. He didn't want to appear threatening, although that might be a little too late.

"You don't look so good buddy." his tone light, he squatted, but didn't come any closer.

The eyes never wavered, however, they continued to bore directly back with the same, consistent defiance. He darted his eyes to the scruff of its neck, the fur seemed to dance ever so lightly in the wind.

The man whispered. "No collar either. Are you a stray, lil fella?"

The ears twitched at the mention of the last words, nostrils flared as it's claws tapped at the ground, trying to consume as little to none space as possible to itself. The creature look positively uncomfortable now.

"Haha, ok. I get it, I won't be calling you that then." he laughs softly. "Still, it ain't good to wander the streets like this, all alone. Especially near the road. You should go some place else."

The silence gathered between the two, where there was neither a reply nor a reaction from the animal. Yet it continues to stare, until the man shuffled himself closer. Another flick of the ears, the animal was attentive all of a sudden, and slowly reared its head up.

The man swallows, something was still enchanting about those...eyes. As if he could stroke them, like glittered jewels. Like he could grasp and feel the colour slip between his fingers. If he could only touch something so close to pure.

And the animal moved, as the man lifted his hand up. As quickly as it reacted, the beast was then a blur. Roughly knocking a bin over, and surprising the man himself flat on his backside. The loud clutter rolling around him, he cursed and admired it for being swift on its feet, as it ran off into the darkness of the alley.

He watched, after picking himself up, waiting to see if the four-legged one would return. But more doubtful than hopeful being his answer, the void drew nothing but a sigh from himself. He suddenly felt detached, ignored as the darkness itself seemed to swallow his attention.

A creak could be heard close to him, and a door shut. "Are you...Mr Randez?"

"Oh. Y-Yeah." gathering himself in front of a more, appropriately dressed woman than him, he nods. "I'm...him. That guy."

Her beady eyes scanned him, then at the floor with the scrambled garbage, than back to him. Her expression hardening, but hardly changing.

"I can explain." he says. "...sorry. I'll pick it up."

"Don't bother." she shakes her head. "Just follow me inside."

"...right."

* * *

"-and that's all there is to it. You get your tips weekly starting on your first shift. And...you should be starting your training this coming monday."

"This coming Monday?" he repeats, and the woman merely nods, her short hair bobs.

"Yes. Any further questions?"

"Ahh. No. I don't think so." he flashes her a slight smile, to which she disregards.

"It is a good thing you have your looks, Mr Randez. I'll be seeing you on monday."

"Yes. Right!" the door slams non too abruptly on his face, and he see's himself in the reflected window as she walks away inside.

"Monday...that gives me a few days to prepare."

_I should feel happy? Why am I not excited about this?_

He turns to the city that swerved around him, animated with life that still couldn't quite grasp a moment of peace. Was there such a thing as peace in a big, over populated city?

_Maybe I'm just not feeling it yet._

He stuck his hands into his pockets, already pacing himself.

"Alright, alright. Focus, Desmond. You've taken a big step today." he mutters. "Just do as you're told there, and you'll be fine. And get your act together man."

His frustrated growl subsided. He paused in front of the place where he met his all too friendly furry companion earlier today. There was definitely something calling him, no matter how quiet the feeling. In the shadows where the gentle wind pull at him, fixated at the sight before him. He could have sworn there was something watching him in there, perhaps it was the animal from before. Perhaps it was something worst.

Desmond knew better than to give in to curious temptation. He left exposed, turning himself away from the alley and crossed the road, letting the hungry brown eyes stare at his back.


	2. Threat

**Author's Note: **There will be come OC's, btw. Just not all too important ones, not to worry.

* * *

_Three Weeks Later_

Desmond believed he would never get used to the brightness of the sun after finishing in the early hours of the morning. Baking inside the nightclub every evening was torment, physically and mentally. He had already asked if it was possible to open the windows partially to which the manager, of course, refused. It was a nightclub after all, and his requests never got him anywhere in the first place. He knew he would be belittled on the first week or so, talked down upon every slight mistake as a trainee.

But the pay was adequate, and he did befriend some easy-going co-workers. He couldn't really complain, even if he wanted to. But he was still human, and could only think of the most simple things to help his frustrations. He vented.

"I understand she's putting me through the works here, but damn it does she have to go over every little thing?" he whined, hands slightly expressive.

The patron beside him was quiet as ever, aside from the gnarled effects of scraping teeth and meat. Desmond turns, frowning at his furry companion.

"You could at least chew a little quieter, or something."

The dog merely swallows, before picking around at the scraps left around its paws eagerly. Some partially flecked on its black pelt.

Desmond sighs. "God...I'm asking a dog to be quieter and I'm on the streets still in my work clothes. And I reek of booze." he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ, I need to go home and sleep."

Slapping his knees made the animals ears twitch and watch, as Desmond rose out of place stretching out his arms like a spring. He was definitely lucky his apartment was close by. Collapsing on the sidewalk due to the lack of sleep next to his friend here seemed like a decent plan. Not a perfect plan, but a tempting one. Straightening his clothing, he took in a deep breath. He didn't come all this way to sleep on the road after the weeks he's had before.

"Right, I'm off buddy. See ya."

A nudge at his leg was felt after he had turned, then it went to his right palm, and Desmond could feel a small tingle of air against his skin as the beast sniffed. Desmond, again, was enthralled by the eyes that were engraved into memory. It looked up attentively at Desmond, a face that seemed to be searching, the tail swaying low.

"What?" Desmond asks. "You want more? Well, you just took what ever I had left from dinner, if I can even call it that. I don't have anymore."

Desmond went to walk again, but was quickly disrupted by another nudge at his legs, more forceful this time. Desmond almost wanted to groan, the dog obviously not taking no for an answer.

"Look, you just ate the last piece." Desmond spun around. "On my next shift, okay?"

The beast was still, but the eyes appeared animated beyond comparison. As if it was waiting for Desmond, its sat on hindquarters, and concentrated once Desmond bent to its level like before.

"Hmm. You're a little more hungry today than usual." Desmond notes, head turning to look at the animal up and down. "Slim pickings, huh?"

The prod of its tongue that swiped its lips was his answer. That pitted his guilt, but Desmond knew he could do no more, and a suppressed groan finally slipped through.

"...I'm sorry buddy, you'll just have to wait till later, or tonight actually if you're sticking around." he shrugs, being blunt. "Another evening shift, surprise surprise huh?"

Desmond returned to his path down the road, somewhat disheartened that the animal did not stop him for a third time. He checked over his shoulder after passing two blocks, seeing the dog had not moved at all, but he was sure the eyes were following him regardless. A black, shaggy figure was all Desmond could see now. A small, soft smile graced Desmond's lips, another three blocks down, and he looked back once more. The beast had already disappeared from sight.

* * *

_A memory..._

_Desmond found his senses heavily indulged in what he could only describe as aromatic, and pleasantly sweet. But he knew where he was again, he knew this was a dream. Face down against the field of greenery around him, the plush growth beneath, as his body refused to move. Not that he minds. The smell, and combined hazy atmosphere - it was like he was in a trance. Nothing else could be seen in the distance, but a pure, white mist. And whilst he remained motionless, he could feel something inside him being lifted, carried away and gently caressed. He used to fear this, what once was unrecognisable behaviour.  
_

_His eyes dilated, and he soon knew what would come next. Things that he assumed as fingers would brush against his cheek, warm and deliberately slow, attempting to comfort him. And then, to be all too quickly replaced by an entity that was clearly not human, but claws that tried to perform the same actions. Claws that mimicked the hand, and were anything but kind. A deep and swelling sensation was made, he felt hot, a fire that burned within._

_ There were eyes that watched him, that waited. Golden, and desirous. _

_Desmond wanted nothing more than to reach out and grasp. But his dreams, that he knew so well now, would not bend so easily._

* * *

"Hey, uh thanks again Travis. For you know...earlier."

"Huh? Oh that. No problem Fran." he replies, two sacks of garbage in each hand. "I know a thing or two about angry drunks. Fun lot they are."

"Yeah..." Desmond laughed light-heartedly, following him out of the nightclub through the back entrance, holding the door open. The noise from inside could be heard blaring right through, escaping. "You can stop calling me 'Fran' anytime soon, you know. Francisco isn't that long. "

Travis passes a smug look, shaking his head. "Yeah yeah, hey open the door a little more I can barely get through."

"Oh, sorry." Desmond stretches, barring and holding the door for as long as he could, wedging himself. "That big guy almost knocked you out though, I swear."

"Hah, as if he could land jack shit on me." he chuckles. "But he kinda got you good too."

"Nah. My arm is fine, it'll bruise but I'll live." Desmond notices him struggling through the passage. "Why don't you just pass them to me?"

Travis looks at him, surprised. As if he would instantly drop the bags right in front of him. "Really? Cause there's hell of a lot more inside."

"I didn't mean..." Desmond starts. "Sure, okay. Pass em along it'll get things done quicker."

"Cool."

Travis hastily went back indoors, dumping the trash in front of Desmond, who in turn rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the bags without hesitation, walking towards the bins at the back in the dark corner of the alley. The lids were already left open, to which mildly confused Desmond since they should be closed, or so his boss instructed. But it's not like they haven't had raiders before. He heaved the bags in, one by one, before dusting his hands and leaving to resume his shift. But a familiar face, the same challenging eyes, stopped him in his tracks.

Desmond murmurs. "You..."

The shadow-like dog approaches him, cautious and quietly with a summoning presence that would now and then give Desmond goosebumps. And suddenly, realisation hit him. "Ahh, shit. I forgot, yeah. I'm sorry. You must have been waiting for me this whole time, huh? Damn it."

It does nothing but scratch dolefully at the ground before him, panting. Desmond wonders if this is some form of resentment after all, and anxiously wants to apologise again.

"I'm sorry buddy, you might have to wait a little longer tonight. Things are pretty busy in there." he gestured his head to the door, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, showing the sign of exhaustion. Desmond hoped that it would understand his movements.

A small, light bark was heard, the animal's tongue hanging out, tail swishing from behind. Desmond couldn't help but smile. He rarely got to, but the beast allowed him to pet the unkempt fur of its head, given that he was granted permission first, Desmond carefully extended his palm. He believed this was their thing now, respect and patience. After all, the dog was getting a free meal out of this.

Travis' voice called. "Fran, you out here still? I'm coming with more-" The bags in hand were released, his tone rising. "Whoa! Back up man, get away from that thing!"

Travis almost ran up to Desmond, had the beast not startled them both with a snarl, the head lowered and gleaming fangs could be seen. Teeth and gum bared. It growled most dangerously at Travis, before bolting for the safety of the darkness once more without a trace. A troubled feeling left Desmond agitated, his eyes swayed from that part of the alley where the animal retreated, to the man in front of him looking incredibly concerned.

"You okay man? Geez, that thing was right in front of you! You see the size of those canines? I mean, geez...for crying out loud it was like a freaking bear!"

"Wait. Travis hang on, calm down." Desmond patted his friends shoulders reassuringly. "I'm alright."

"Right, okay then..." a hand laid spread on Travis' face, he sighs. "We're going to need pest control now, or a dog catcher. That thing is serious."

"Pest control, really? What's the fuss? It was just a dog."

"Just a **_dog?_**" an eye peered through the gap of his fingers, but Desmond already knew Travis was gawking unbelievingly past his hand. "That was no dog, mate. That was a bloody **wolf.**"

Desmond's eyes widened. "A...wolf? _Seriously?_"

Travis groaned, his hand slipped. "Are you kidding me? You see the size of that thing? That's not an ordinary dog, it's a damn wolf! And a mean lookin' one as well. Trust me, I know a thing or two about that."

"Trust you to know a thing or two about wolves and our customers at work?" Desmond's arms were folded, but Travis didn't catch the slight banter.

"Don't kid about with those things man, they're raw. They'll tear you a new one, in two if you're cocky. That one might not be able to do much on it's own, but it can still leave you with something to really think about if you're stupid enough."

Shrugging, Desmond was hardly disturbed. He scoffed at him. "Hey chill, nothing happened. I'm fine. You're fine. What's the big deal?"

Travis' eyes hardened. "I don't think you understand the difference here, the fact is that thing can and will kill you. Look, I've been hunting before back with my dad when I was younger, somebody we knew got killed by a pack of those monsters. And..."

"And...what?"

His voice went quieter. "Just then. You...Fran, you were petting that thing. How long has it been around here?"

"You're taking this too far, Travis." Desmond rolled his eyes, ignoring the uneasiness from the other man. "Come on, we should just go back inside."

"I'm serious Fran."

"Stop calling me 'Fran'."

"Fine." Travis says. "But those things are feral, they don't...normally let you do that shit. It should have bitten your hand, or something. Not let you pet it like a newborn kitten."

_Well, it did let me do just that. _Desmond wanted to say out loud with a grin, but kept to himself. "My hand must have smelled like old garbage then, I don't know. But it didn't hurt me."

There was a pause for thought, before Travis could answer. "Maybe...but if that thing hangs around here, there could be more. There are rumors going around, you know."

"Rumors?"

"Something about wolves...in our city. I'm not overly sure on the details, but I overheard it from a couple of our customers today, namely a large group of shady guys in the back. You remember them?"

_Hm. How could I forget._ Desmond nods, signalling him to continue.

"Yeah, well that ain't all man. Before you even started working here, people said they're catching glimpses of a white wolf hanging about in our area."

"White huh? That's pretty rare." said Desmond. _I haven't even seen a white dog around here before though. Ugh, stop it with the wolves and dogs already Des._

"Heh, don't get your hopes up. It's not like that thing would casually waltz up to you, a stick in mouth and let you play fetch with it." Travis snickers.

"Ehh. I'm not so great with animals anyway." Desmond says, and rolls his shoulders. "But we should probably stop talking about wolves, animals, and fluffy chit-chat. I'm starting to age here."

_Besides, they **are** just_ _wolves_.

"Haha. You're right, you're right."

Once the rest of the rubbish was swiftly thrown away, Desmond started walking alongside Travis, both heading back in, before Desmond starting picking up another topic of interest.

"So...you used to hunt?"

"Yup." Travis nods. "My dad and I used to do this come every season, when I was a little boy. Deers, boars, and bears if we're well prepared."

Desmond started to question the legal activity of his past time. "And wolves?"

"Yes the wolves too Fran, especially the wolves. You wanna know why?"

"Why?"

"It's the pelt. You can make really good money out of that."


	3. Trigger

The darkness would surely swallow him now, and Desmond was positive he had lost track of how long had he been staring at his ashen ceiling. Two or three minutes? Maybe even a few hours? The corners of the wall, his room, they gathered the shadows together, and as soon as he rested with the thought that he was at last with peaceful slumber, they would annoyingly draw no further, only allowing Desmond the center of his vision.

He thought the light from outside was his problem, initially, but he made sure to keep that out as much as he could. No, that wasn't the real problem. No matter how desperately he tried to avoid it. Once again, he was drained of energy, but the mind - oh, his tricky mind - it was brimming with unsolvable questions and wonder, as if someone was giving his brain a none too gentle squeeze.

_"They were the eyes of a demon, Fran. I'm telling you."_

Travis went on and on about what happened last night for the rest of their shift together. Part lecturing; part warning, and even part story-telling. After closing time when Travis bid farewell to him, he gave another quick and sound advice that stuck with Desmond on his way home.

_"Stay on the path, okay?_ _"_

_As if I really lived that far._

But Desmond was in fact grateful and a little taken for the amount of concern his friend had, it was a nice change of pace from being the lonesome guy that he was before all this. Travis was one heck of a chatter box though, which in this case Desmond supposed that he was right for the job after all.

So why couldn't _he_ see all these things that his friend kept telling him about?

_Demon eyes...monsters...killer instincts...savagery..._

_He was harmless..._

Desmond blinks, and whispers. "What am I not seeing here?"

_Was it because I thought he was a dog? Would that really...really make any difference to what species they are?_

He shifts in bed, rolling on this side, curling his body up. Frustrated by the fact his active mind provided him no succor, he curses. He didn't see the wolf again throughout the rest of the night, and morning. Not during his quick interventions where he would hurriedly look outside unnoticed, and definitely not when he departed with Travis. Desmond could slowly feel his gut twisting at the presumptuous thought that his no name wolf wouldn't be returning any time soon.

_What was it that Travis was going on about? The market...hunting...money..._

_"It's the pelt. You can really make good money out of that."  
_

And eerie silence struck him. Why was that so painful to think about? Desmond was no activist of animal rights, though he would not condone the brutality and cruelty side of it. But he was also not without his own human needs either. What it meant to survive in this world was a far greater concern to him, this was his priority. He didn't need to add anymore trouble or responsibilities on his list, this was enough.

Yet, here was this unsettling fear, inside. Fear of what he could not control. Fear that he would not be able to stop an inevitable, and his heart wrenches. For the nth time, Desmond rolls over, despite the light outside growing and seeping through like a golden cascade, his eyes start to flutter, and at last cradles him into the dark.

* * *

Seven days it's been. Seven days, four hours and eleven minutes, Desmond counts. Abruptly a week has passed since he had seen the wolf that's plagued every waking moment and every needless dream he's been having. Constantly without being detected, Desmond would leave a small plateful of food in the alley, namely near the area of the bins. Desmond does not understand why he does this, but he can not see himself stopping now. He acknowledges this is probably the most idiotic way of luring vermin, and he doesn't care. No one else seems to have noticed anyhow.

The food would times be left untouched, other times it would be nibbled, and quite rarely it would be eaten whole. Despite any of those moments, Desmond does not catch the culprit who plays or devours the handout, and begins to speculate. It might, and very likely, have been a sewer rat. Maybe even some cockroaches. Maybe even _another _wolf_._

But Desmond was less than caring. He just wants to see those limpid eyes once more. He could appreciate the finer things life had to offer him sure, but he guaranteed nothing else came close to this. It was the little things that counted to him. The subtle actions were easier to remember. And though he was in continuous human contact for roughly a month now, he craved and obsessed, though he denies.

Because he felt it would be ridiculous for a man to be sad for the loss of his canine companion.

"Hey, earth to Fran? Hellooo?"

Away from the broom in hand, Desmond catches Travis looking at him, appearing expectantly and irritated. "Huh?"

"I've been talking for a couple of minutes here man, or maybe to myself since you don't seem to be even listening." Travis says, huffing. He's pulling his overcoat on, buttoning up.

"Uh." _Shit, did I really zone out?_ "Sorry..."

Travis fixes his coat. "Nevermind, it was long ass anyway. But I thought you might want to...I don't know, be aware."

"Maybe."

He finally turns to Desmond, weariness in his eyes. "The news, it's not really talked about much but it's about your _friend._"

"Friend?" Desmond raises a brow, he doesn't stop sweeping. He pretends not to care.

"I guess. Something about rewards, but that's not the point. They're talking about it now on the news. This talk of...wolves, here, in our city!" Travis' voice raises, arms waving. "This isn't a rumour anymore, man."

Desmond shakes his head, in a tiresome way. "Oh come on. This is media trash. We have raccoons, stay dogs and cats."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Travis draws closer in disbelief, but Desmond isn't alarmed. He knows his friend can be a bit eccentric, as he likes to describe. But he also knew he shouldn't have stepped up like that. "Of all people Fran! You actually **saw** one with me! How can you say no to this?"

"I don't..." he mutters, the words slipping from his mouth, with Travis looming next to him. Desmond manages to look him in the eyes, eventually. "I don't know, okay?"

"What? Are you saying you're denying what you saw?"

"No."

"Then...?" That seemed to have calmed Travis, only slightly.

"I think...we shouldn't get worked up about this. The police, or animal catchers...what ever, they'll deal with this and this story will be swept under the rug." As if on cue, Desmond gives a hard turn with his broom, the brush scratching the wooden floorboards.

Travis watches him carry on his work in silence, feeling the discussion was over. The building tension growing, and Desmond could practically feel that one of them was about to break, until Travis started backing off. "Fine. I'll do this by myself then."

"Do what by yourself?"

From the corner of his eyes, Desmond could see a small grin on Travis' lips. "I'm going to set up traps. We're getting some rats around the here, you know."

"I'm not surprised."

"Indeed, one would think to stop leaving a trail of ripped cardboard where the food is placed on."

With Desmond's body flinching, Travis' grin widens, he continues. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, hm?"

"Course not." For once, Desmond is thankful his voice does not shake. "And what you're doing could be considered illegal, this isn't back home, Travis."

"I was going to ask for you for your help, Fran." he sighs heavily. "But I suppose that's not going to happen. And don't worry your pretty little head about what's legal or not, because unlike some people, I actually know what matters."

Biting back his attempted retort, Desmond grits his teeth. And it seems Travis was expecting it, but still regards the 'cold shoulder' after no remark, and makes his way to the entrance to leave.

"I'll see you later Fran." His hand lingers on the frame of the door, briefly stopping. Desmond couldn't see it from where he stood, but he was sure of it, Travis was smiling. "Be careful now."

The door shuts fully, and Desmond moves to sweep another area of the floor.

* * *

Desmond leaves an hour later than previously planned, with the manager being a tad more lenient than usual by checking his work, before allowing him to be dismissed. He doesn't fuss or whine, at least not verbally anyway, and walks off with his white hoodie pulled up, he hugs tightly. The early mornings were slowly becoming colder, and sooner or later Desmond will have to start wearing layers, which means he has to spend more money.

This idle thought doesn't ride long however, once he starts to turn a corner, he is given separate paths as always. One leading directly home, and the other giving access to another uninviting route to the back alleys of the nightclub, and he heads there without a second though. Immediately, he's swarmed. Everything in his mind tells him to turn back, that he is crazy and foolish, yet still he strides.

"Come on," he whispers, almost breathlessly. "_**Be**_** _there._**_"_

Looking behind the bins, there lies emptiness. And why should Desmond be anymore disheartened, when half of him knew firmly, there would be no one waiting. Not the sound of scurrying paws, or a fur out-of-place. Nothing but a damp, dark place, and his world took a standstill. His heart drummed against his chest, it hurt.

"Not here." he utters, the disappointment lingers.

The other half that wanted to believe, so strongly and motivated, tore in half like brittle paper. He casts his eyes all over, making sure to take in what he could, with a promise that this would be the last time he would do something so pointless, bordering on reckless even.

"Wait, is that him?"

Desmond looks back, a crowd of three gather towards him, and he turns to face them. He vaguely remembers one of them in the club at the back around a week ago, or so he thinks. Not one of the men clad in dark clothing appeared to look friendly either, not that Desmond ventured to guess it was normal to find so, considering where he stood in the middle of nowhere - in an alleyway. Alone.

"This must be the guy." One mentions. "He looks just like him! Look, he even has that scar on his lip."

Another folds his arms. "But we lost him a while back, I could have sworn he went the other way."

Making sure not to take his eyes of them, Desmond holds his breath and takes a bold step back, and suddenly all eyes are on him. To paint a picture, Desmond was now the very image of a cornered prey. A defenseless, outnumbered and weary prey.

The one in the middle, assumed as leader, chuckles. "And where do you think you're going, Altaïr?"

"Who?" Desmond says, a hand to himself. "You've got the wrong guy, my name is Francisco."

"What the...he doesn't even sound like him." one converses quietly, as the other two agree.

"The scar can't be coincidence. You tell me if you see another man with the same features though, in the mean time you're coming with us, nice and quietly, alright?"

_What? This is bullshit!_ "I already told you guys, I'm not-"

Desmond tries to keep calm, but is shoved to the wall, head banging against the surface, knocking his senses into a dizzy state. Two of the men were already on him, pinning him on both sides, their grips like steel, holding him up. He groans, the blurred figure of the third culprit slowly approaches.

"I said...nice and quietly." His eyes darken, and Desmond struggles with the hand that chokes him. _"You damned beast."_

Desmond blinks hard. "N-No...you don't...understand..." he pants hoarsely, his entire body fights to stop shivering. "I'm not...not this...guy..."

The man in front ignores his pitiful cries, closing his neck tighter. "Hold him still." he orders sternly, looking at the other two. "He could change any minute and tear your throat out. We need to knock him out."

_Damn it...not...like this..._

Just as Desmond begins to see his vision fading to black, the hand on his neck is all of a sudden pulled off, and an anguished scream is heard, as well as a gnarled cry. The two goons on his side promptly let go, letting Desmond slip to his knees coughing, rubbing a hand on his sore throat. Sucking in all the precious air he could, Desmond notices the man who was only seconds ago choking him to death, flailing on the floor with both hands on his right shoulder and neck. He was bleeding furiously, and screaming like there was no tomorrow.

"SHIT!" one of them bends down, trying to help.

"He's here, he's _fucking_ here!" the other shouts, looking around frantically. "You little shit, come out!"

Small traces of blood was littered around them, and Desmond braces himself against the wall, hoping somehow he would sink in. There in a corner was an unmistakable glint, a pair of ominous eyes in the shadows accompanied by a dark shape. But they could not see where Desmond was looking, the pair with such murderous intent, and it scared him.

One of them starts to grow agitated. "Altaïr! I **know** it's you, you fucking coward! You can't hide forever."

Promptly, a loud and beastly snarl was heard, straight from the corner Desmond was surveying. A shuffle of small, tapping feet on the ground, and into the light the creature, a black wolf, emerges. The glimmer in its eyes never left, its jaws showing the array of sharp teeth, and dripping red blood. Briefly, Desmond and the wolf make eye contact, and it must have done something to it, because it starts a low and terrible growl that makes the men shrink back. The wolf barks, stepping forth, it's fur bristles.

The man with his arm around his injured comrade has his voice trembling. "T-That's...not him..A-Altaïr...his fur is white."

"You're right." the bravest steps forth, earning him a clear, warning bark from the wolf. "Heh. Calling on some friends, huh?" his voice stretches. "I knew you were a weak little pup, getting others to do your dirty work!"

He turns to challenge the wolf, masking his fear. "You don't scare me, mongrel. I've fought and captured bitches twice your size. Why don't you change and fight me like a real man?"

At that, the wolf leaps into the air like a speed demon, springing forth as the man swiftly equips himself with a razor-sharp knife, pulled out from under his coat. But the wolf moved faster, effortlessly dodging a swipe, and its outstretched paws lands, pushing the man to the ground. Brutally, the animal gnaws at the wrist that held the weapon, letting go of it instantly the man profusely lets an outcry of pain.

As agile as it pounced, the wolf releases its bite, leaning close to the man who was reduced to no more than a snivelling child. Spit and blood dribbled along its fangs, a deep, garbled sound emits from its throat. Until satisfied, the wolf crawls back and the man scrambles to his feet, clutching a wounded hand.

"You...you bastard..." he seethes, backing up. The other two men need no signal to know this was a retreat. "I swear, next time I find you I'll gut you, Altaïr **and** your friend over there!"

The men all turn together, running off till they disappeared out of the alley and sight. Though Desmond had not moved an inch since the wolf appeared, he found himself short of breath regardless. The wolf was no longer baring its teeth, but it did not approach Desmond, prominently staring and keeping its distance from him. Desmond could feel the eyes scanning him.

Through a flustered gaze, Desmond awkwardly smiles, trying to find the right words. "I would have never thought...but still, you came back and I...you," he pauses, the wolf's tail swings. "You saved me, thank you."

There was no distinct reaction, however the head lowered in earnest, licking a paw before drawing it to brush the fur behind its ear. Desmond couldn't help but feel relief washing over him, so close to being knocked out moments ago. How the thought hit him so - the same shy, quiet wolf he met weeks ago, was now the same wolf that risked its life and saved his. He was sure this was the same wolf, without a doubt, this made him happy.

Before Desmond could thank the noble beast any further, or ask questions, the wolf was quick to whirl around and leave, with Desmond (and a hand reaching out) deserted in the alleyway. He tucked his hand away, his appeal ignored once the wolf started to jump from vents and platforms, reaching a certain point. It glances down at Desmond, far from him, and vanishes.

_Till we meet again..._


	4. Imprisonment

It was hard to get the stains off, Desmond's beloved white hoodie was caked in filth and a few specks of blood in the aftermath of that early morning. Barely getting a wink of sleep, the bags under his eyes were creeping and puffy, and were horribly visible. The rusty squeak of the taps could be heard, Desmond drenched his face in the water of his bathroom sink, washing the fatigue from his eyes. It was begrudging to pull his aching body from the covers, but it wasn't nearly half as bad as his more recent dreams - becoming more hauntingly vivid and intimate.

Only this time, there were voices to add to the faceless ones. Shallow and echoing, they beckoned to him. They caressed him, soft hands and jagged claws, taunting and teasing simultaneously. And again, he was left in the dark of their calls and needs. He would never know, because he could not ask. He tries and tries so hard to speak, but his throat just becomes dry, and nothing follows out. The ghostly figures around him are encouraging now, they're pushing Desmond to say something, like they wanted to hear his voice.

_Say something...say something Desmond...anything Desmond...let us hear your pretty cries..._

And he gives it his all, he squeezes his eyelids shut tight, angry with himself and at last makes sound that shudders, bursting free through his lips. A lengthy howl bounces into the distance, and he can feel those around him grinning.

_Well done, child..._

Desmond looks into the mirror, remembering that point when he jolted, sitting up from his bed with his mind vibrating with that noise, in his quiet room. He recalls almost being close to tears, choking them back with a shaking hand closing his mouth. He does this, and he doesn't know why. With effort, he pulls away from the sink, tired of looking at himself and his mixed thoughts that would not rest. He wants to walk out of his apartment with a clear head, but all he feels now is something to satisfy his appetite. Putting on his mildly ruined hoodie, Desmond leaves his home, starving.

* * *

It was just one of those nights, and Desmond wasn't all on top of his game. Struggling with fussy customers and rowdy drunk ones was a juggling act. Foremost, the unbarring noise in the club and the lack of sleep he had did not accumulate well, and at some point Desmond had to go into the bathrooms to be sick and catch his breath. Thankfully Travis and another coworker was covering for him when he rushed so suddenly.

With tonight being more lively than usual, and Desmond took a few minutes before he could let himself face that crowd again. He didn't feel right at all, sweat started to glistened on his forehead, and his body racked uncontrollably. He forced himself to hold back for a second time, feeling the need to hurl his insides. He flushed, disgusted with his weak stomach and goes to wash up. He doesn't recover easily, his hands grip the porcelain sink eagerly wanting to dig his fingernails into the rim of it. His vision impairs, seeing something parallel to himself in his own reflection, but he can't quite place it. Desmond does all he can to retain his sanity, through sheer will.

_Fuck, my head...I'm going to crash into the wall soon. God damn it, my head freaking hurts..._

The door was heard swinging open, the door banging against the wall. Travis runs over to him.

"There you are Fran! Dude, you okay man?" he says, leaning over. "Whoa, you don't look so good. It's not even that bad out there, you getting enough sleep?"

"I'm...I'm fine." Desmond lies, and he's not surprised when Travis doesn't buy it.

"Sure you are, and I'm the queen of England." Travis rolls his eyes. "Just take a few minutes, maybe even half an hour, to relax in the stock room, okay? Me and Henry have you covered, don't push it."

"Travis, no..."

"I'm not going to have you spilling your guts on our costumers, that's that." said Travis with a smug smile, patting Desmond comfortingly on the back.

And at that moment, Desmond is eased, slightly, as if a significant portion of was worries was rid. He looks up at his friend, smiling back, and nods. Distinctly unaware of the doors being pushed open for a second time, only quieter. Three men walk in, two of which dressed identically. Where as the third, who caught Desmond's attention more over, was adorned in something he could describe as aristocratic. His silver-grey hair neatly combed back and in the form of a small ponytail. He spoke, a voice smooth and silken.

"Well, you boys are far from where you should be, aren't you?" Desmond notes the mans posture was even formal, with his hands behind him.

Travis turns, sheepishly grinning. "Ahh. We were just on our way back, sir."

"Really?" there was amusement in his voice. "That...won't be necessary."

"Excuse me?"

"You are. However, I have need of your friend there." he looks at Desmond, smiling unkindly. The gaze make Desmond's stomach twist, he feels a déjà vu coming along. "So, if you could come along with us now, that would make my job a whole lot easier."

"What's up with this guy..." says Desmond, muttering.

Travis steps forth, protectively in front of Desmond who's still supporting himself against the sink, all the more shivering. The sudden attitude from Travis made Desmond nervous. "We're not looking for trouble, my friend just fell ill. So, if you could helpfully step aside here-"

The older man interrupts. "Unwell, is he?" His eyes squint, repulsed, putting a hand over his mouth and nose. "So he is. You absolutely reek, boy. The smell of afterbirth is all over you. I am not surprised I didn't sniff you out any sooner." he laughs to himself softly. "Perhaps, you have just awakened yourself? Most unusual, your birthright shouldn't have stayed dormant for this long."

Desmond stumbles away from the sink. "My birthright? What are you talking about?"

"No matter." the courtly man shakes his head, and nods to the men beside him. "I have already wasted enough time in this cesspool of humans. Grab the boy."

Despite them moving forth, Travis doesn't budge, and instead he holds his ground blocking their path to Desmond. "You lot can back the fuck off. I may not know what you want with Fran or who the fuck you guys think you are, but me letting you take him doesn't exactly sound all too pleasant."

"And what would a lowlife like you know what's good for that wolf in sheepskin?"

"Anything that doesn't involve your dumbass."

"You...have a lot of mouth for one that's at a disadvantage here." the older man's eyes darken, a sudden gleam of danger. "_Learn your place._"

From what Desmond could depict, a silver wolf - no, a man...tackled Travis aside of him to the tiled ground at inhuman speed. Too fast for Travis to avoid and for Desmond to respond to, Travis finds himself being pressed against the cold floor, faced down and groaning. Struggling with the grip holding him, the older man held Travis skillfully and efficiently.

Desmond could not place the images that flashed before his eyes though. Was his mind playing tricks on him again? Did he really just see the man change into a beast right before his eyes until he blinked a mere second later? He saw something wolfish, that he would place. But now, the devil had taken form, and it was all Desmond could do not to faint or yell at his thoughts.

"No...fucking hell no...he didn't..." he mumbles incoherently, insides churning again.

_I'm going mad..._

With Travis squirming underneath him, the older man shouts an order. "What are you fools doing just standing there? Sedate the target already!"

Another flash, and Desmond graphically hallucinates his night before as arms tangle in his own, his back slamming into the concrete wall. He cries out, the men stronger than anticipated keeping him in place with ease, Desmond tries still to shake them off his body, his attempts making no effect. A tiny glint was seen, and all too briefly he feels an incredible amount of pain erupting from his neck that juts a silent scream.

"**Fran!**" Travis manages to face the other way, catching his friend in peril. "Ngh. No! Get off me you piece of shit!"

The reply was calmer in comparison. "Such fire in you, human. This shall be remedied."

He counters every endeavour Travis makes to break free, drawing his mouth closer to Travis' right arm. Desmond's eyes are heavier than before, blinking unevenly, his steady breathing becoming a trifling task. He can feel himself slipping, falling limp, as the smallest of movements around him slow down at an alarming rate. The last thing Desmond sees with his fading vision is a large set of canine teeth ensnaring his friend's arm, and the jaws sinking in.

* * *

Like all of his most becoming dreams, Desmond comfortably caves into the fingers that petted his hair. Long, soft strokes that mutely told him he was safe with them. Though he was gently awakening, for once, and knew the feeling would cease to exist, but the fingers...did not leave. Panic settled in, eyes fluttered open and Desmond pulls away from amenity. The hand flinches, with Desmond startled, he scoots back far away.

He firstly spots the hand, the one that grazed through his hair, leading to the arm, a body and finally, a face - one that was all too happy to see him. Desmond takes everything else in at once. His surroundings, an insanely white room with a single light fitting. A metal door, fitted with large bolts, a small parting and something he ventured to guess as a small flap at the bottom.

"What...where..." he whispers, shaking reluctantly.

Trying to speak fairly hurts, and he could do without the slight headache as well. He feels something encircling his neck. Not tightly, but he raises a hand coming into contact with something smooth and circular near his nape, and tries to pull it off to no avail.

"That's a collar."

Desmond looks up to the only man in the room besides himself, as he continues to speak. "They give one of those to all of us that are caught." the man tugs at his own, symbolising. Upon it, the number 16 is engraved in metal. A grin appears. "Kinda fitting, isn't it?"

"Where am I?" Desmond asks.

Eyes scanning the walls and ceiling, before returning to the man sitting down with him. He takes a moment to examine him. Clothing slightly tattered, aside for the jeans and brown coat buttoned to the middle. Fair skin, dark blond hair, and a pair of brilliant blue eyes that were unfortunately shadowed by the bags under them, worst than Desmond's own. Still, that did not beat off the man's cheery glow.

"Who are you?"

"Subject sixteen." he chuckles. "Or...you can call me Clay, I prefer that one."

"And what is this place, Clay. Why am I here? Who did this to me?"

"Abstergo. I'm not sure, and I don't know." Clay rolls his eyes, shrugging. "Well, when I say I'm not sure...it's not like they'd give me the details of every prisoner here."

_Prisoner?_ "And...that would be?"

"Probably to find Eden...or Altaïr. Or both. Who knows?"

Desmond thinks for a second._ Altaïr, that name. I've heard of that name before._

Clay catches his new inmate lost in thoughts, interest plays in his voice. "Something on your mind, seventeen?"

"That name, I've heard of it before." he replies. "And what's with the seventeen?

The man in question points at Desmond's neck. "That's the number they gave you on your collar. And I'm not surprised, his name is spoken often in our clans. Lucky dog." another chuckle eludes Clay.

Disregarding his funny choice of words, Desmond starts yanking at his collar harder, wanting to rid the piece of accessory. A kiss of the teeth was heard, with Clay's warning shortly followed.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you, seventeen. Who knows what that thing will do if you try to pull it down hard enough. Maybe it'll shock you, or blow your head off." he leans closer with an evil grin. "Or worst."

"Fine, but can you stop calling me that?" Desmond looks at him skeptically, refraining himself. "My name's Des-...Francisco."

With a raised brow, Clay admits to another playful smile. "Okay, _Francisco_. Mind if I call you Fran?"

"Yeah, sure." Desmond says with a sigh.

_Fran..._

He felt a heartbeat pulse harder than it should have, an unseeable weight making him motionless as realisation enveloped him. A sudden understanding that ran cold through him.

"Travis...oh god..."

A mental sequence takes place - dangerous looking men, alluring voices, screaming, a clash, unbearable pain, and blood. More blood than Desmond could take, he was sure his mind emphasized. But the point being, it wasn't his own. Nor the other men. It belonged to Travis, his friend, and he was on the ground somewhere, bruised and bleeding to death.

_No..._

And he wasn't strong enough to help.

"Hey, you okay Fran?" Clay calls him out of the dark. "You seem a bit distracted, or disturbed more like it."

Desmond slowly positions himself, lying on the floor and staring at nothing. Doing all he can to avoid eye contact. "My friend, Travis. When I was caught I...I don't know what happened to him. But...I saw a wolf, or I think I saw a wolf, bite his arm. Before I blacked out, fuck. I don't know what's happened to him or what they did to him."

_But they were after me, and it's my fault._

"I'm sorry to hear that Fran." Clay finally whispers after a moment of silence between them. "Chances are...they...I mean, he could or can be...well, you know..."

"Clay."

"Yeah?"

"You don't need to say it." Desmond has the urge to curl into a ball.

"Ah. I know but..."

Someone bangs on the door, loudly and it rattles the surface. Desmond doesn't react, but Clay moves closer to the door, anticipating and bends to his knees beside it. Two small chrome coloured bowls skid through the flap below the door, footsteps growing distant on the other side. It's not clear, but Desmond makes out odd brownish and red clumps inside the dishes, and feels repulsed. The smell is doesn't help either. He watches Clay move near to the bowl, head lowering.

"You're going to _eat_ that?" Desmond questions, voice lined with disgust.

Clay stares back, indifferently. He makes a brief frown. "What, you're expecting lobster? We are prisoners, you know." His eyes dart over the two bowls. "You not gonna eat yours?"

Desmond grimaces. "Hell no."

"Ah well, more for me then."

Desmond turns himself over the second he sees Clay grabbing both bowls together to himself, digging into the continents. Oblivious to the man on all fours behind him, and eager noises of someone tucking into their meal that makes Desmond wince a little, he tries to rest. His head on his arm, eyes on the wall with the light constantly flickering above. Desmond's tired eyes outlines a shadow leaning on the wall before him, facing sideways, the façade of a wolf.


	5. Caged

"Your report?"

"Seven casualties, one death." A heavy sigh escapes the man. "This is turning into a wild goose chase, Vidic. Tell your men to double their efforts, because I for one am tired of running after their work and rumours."

"Patience, Kenway. We are closer than you think."

"You think I don't bloody know that?" the man seethes, stepping closer behind Vidic. "Everytime I get close to that bastard he escapes! And it's because of **your** men."

Vidic turns and see's an agitated man. The light behind makes him appear looming. "My men are nothing compared to you, _Haytham._ Are you suggesting that you lack the actual ability to capture the right man? Because as far as I know, you've caught another useless mongrel."

"Because I was _told_ he knew Altaïr." he scoffs. "But all I smelt was a pup."

"A pup?" Vidic walks away, towards his desk aside the windows. "What is that supposed to mean? Are you harboring children? We are an industry-"

"No, he was a man." Haytham shakes his head, bewildered. "But the stench...his spirit; a child. Our blood does not stay dormant and yet he appeared as if he never knew." he chuckles. "The poor thing."

"But there was definitely no sign of Altaïr?"

"His scent was clean of him though," the man pauses. "there was definitely another scent lingering off him. Almost familiar-"

"I don't care." Vidic waves him off. "We **need** him. And the quicker we find that mutt, the better. Or..."

"Or?"

Vidic smiles. "Find me the brotherhood. You find their den, you find the location and **him**, and the rest is simple."

Haytham rolls his eyes, folding his arms. "You speak as if this is an easy task. Their hideout is the most occult thing known to man, next to Eden."

"But with your senses, Haytham, must I remind you?" Vidic presses, and Haytham grits his teeth, a flash of anger.

"Do **not** test me, fool. I know what _I'm_ capable of, but it seems that you may need a quick reminder."

"Threats? Really? You _need_ us Haytham." he states clearly, almost chuckling. "You need us for this to work."

There is a faint beeping noise, and he door across them slides open automatically. A woman dressed in a tidy uniform passes through, her blond hair tied into a neat bun and a file of papers in arms. She briefly regards them both, before a curious look on her face.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"No," said Vidic, nodding to Haytham. "We were just finished discussing the earlier events. You are dismissed, Haytham."

"This isn't over, Vidic-"

"**Dismissed.** I will give you a brief report about today's result with the new one."

With an idle gaze, Vidic looks pass him, beyond Haytham's glare, who eventually turns to exit the room. Brushing past the woman, he storms out carrying along the tense atmosphere. The door slides shut once more, and the calm returns.

"What was that about?" she questions.

"Nothing." Vidic corners his desk and sits. "What is it, Stillman? This better be good news."

"Well, sir, it's about the new one he found. We have his files now. He was going by a different name however." She sifts through her records. "His full name is Desmond Miles, but his blood was hard to track. Like...it was hidden. But I've been suggested that if we prompt him through the animus, we can get somewhere. I'm...not so sure though."

"Seventeen?" Vidic scans his computer screen. "Good, bring him in now."

"But sir, he's slightly underweight. Are you sure we should be-"

"We have the animus ready, Stillman." he leers. "Now, wake him up."

* * *

For hours after, Desmond had never seen the door open at all, just a couple more bowls filled with ludicrous content that he refused to place anywhere near himself. He gave up eating entirely, and watched Clay gobble it all down with his bare hands as if it was his last meal. Desmond's mind was spiraling, slowly into rage.

There had been a few times where he had exerted his anger, verbal and pitiful cries at the door. And all were for nought. There came no reply, no words. Just himself, Clay, and the food that was delivered punctually. It was a burning cycle Desmond fell into.

Clay had made attempts to converse with him, however, and all attempts had been faced with nonsensical and confusing chatter. But at least that kept Desmond somewhat sane, he was not alone in all this...emptiness. When there had been interactive encounters, Desmond did his best to answer what he could.

Clay props himself against the wall, lips smacking after his meal. "So, what's your story? Do you have a clan, or are you alone?"

"Clan?" Desmond frowns, himself also against the wall at the other end of the room. "I thought it was clear I was kidnapped into this shit-hole."

"Obviously. But you must have had a life before all this."

"I did. Sorta...I mean, pretty much a bachelor life but still."

Clay laughs and folds his hands behind his head. "Hah, tell me about it. Few scraps of meat here and there. But, when it comes down to it, the lone wolf style never really beats the feeling of being in a pack, huh?"

"I...guess?" Desmond eyes him. "Look, in all seriousness, what the fuck is going on here? One minute I was at work, and the next thing I know..."

Clay sighs. "Eden."

"Eden?"

Shifting, Clay sits up straight, pulling away from the wall. "Yeah. What else do you think they really want to do with our kind, besides...well..." Clay pinches the tips of his coat collar, pulling at it. "our fur, right?"

"Clay, what...the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about that stupid fairytale. You know!" he grunts waving his hands in the air. "Eden, paradise, heaven...what ever the hell you want to call it, **_they_ **are looking for it. But, they won't find it..." his lips curve, and he grins darkly. "Not without us."

"I..." Desmond stops, he can feel himself beginning to stutter. "I don't...understand. What is this about? The hell are you talking about?"

"You can't really mean that, Fran." Losing himself in Desmond's eyes, Clay casts an all too serious look. Cynical and quiet. "The tale of Eden? Our kind knows all about this, I'm pretty sure you do too. Even if it's a child's story for humans, we are the ones. And as soon as we find it, we're going home and they will-"

Clay's voice drowns out, and suddenly he heads for the door, with Desmond watching his every movement, confused. They hear a tumble of locks, and the door slowly swings open. His once stern demeanor erased, as a woman passes through, in a skirt and white top. Desmond felt an air of professionalism about her, and he quickly gets to his feet.

"Lucy!" says Clay, excitedly. "Finally! Where have you been? I've been thinking about what you said before last week, and I..."

"Clay, please." she interrupts, and faces Desmond. "I'm here for him."

"Huh, Fran?" Clay looks at him for split second, before turning his head back. "What do you want with him?"

"We need a session with him."

Desmond walks up to them. "A session?"

"Lucy, I thought...no..." Clay's face quickly turns sour. "Not him, you said you'd stop these this."

"She's not here for you, sixteen." another man enters the room, a confident stride in his walk. Desmond notes his buzzcut dark blond hair and black hoodie with an inner yellow lining. The frigid gaze in his eyes raised an alarm inside Desmond. This man was anything but stable and friendly, and it seems Clay had the exact same feelings.

"Daniel." Clay's voice was thick venom. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Because I knew you would be a hassle." Daniel chuckles. "Now step aside."

"As if you can fucking talk down to me like that." stepping up, he glares. "Asshole, I swear I will kill-"

Daniel swiftly pulls a pistol out from his side that immediately silences Clay. He raises his other hand, cocking the gun, and Desmond feels frozen in place, blood running cold. Lucy tries not to look exasperated by his actions.

"Please." Daniel smirks. "Let's not do this, okay?"

"You're..." Clay doesn't want to appear frightened, if anything he looks at Daniel, eyes furious."You're one of us! Why the hell are you doing this?"

"No...no, no." Daniel shakes his head, lowering the gun slightly. "I'm not one of you guys, you see. I know what it takes to survive out here. I know what I got to do to live."

"Yeah, by throwing away your pride." Clay retorts. "By now, you're seen by the rest of us as nothing but a house trained puppy. A fucking lap dog for the Templar scum." Daniel grits his teeth, clutching his gun tightly as Clay continues. "An obedient pet, aren't you?"

Daniel points his weapon directly Clay's head, who's unfazed. An itchy finger slowly curls around the trigger, Daniel begins to tremble. "You shut your fucking mouth, Kaczmarek. Or did you want me to blow a hole through your damn skull?"

"Daniel." Lucy's strict and warning tone pulls both men away from each other. "We have our orders, let's go."

It takes a minute for Daniel to comply, but he eventually lowers his gun completely, frustration boring upon him. "Orders huh, fine. You." he glowers at Desmond, who feels a heavy burden on himself. "You're coming with us, now."

Frantically, Desmond looks back and forth between everyone. "W-Wait, hold on. Where are you taking me? What's this all about? What if I..."

Daniel wiggles his pistol. "I don't want to really stay and argue, pal. Now follow us."

Lucy proceeds to quietly exit the room past Daniel, who's by the door. Desmond doesn't budge, his mind in conflict. He turns to Clay for guidance, but instead receives a cold shoulder. Bitter and reserved, Clay keeps to himself, avoiding all eye contact with Desmond. He can see the tension inside of him, bottled and in his shivering body. Crestfallen, Desmond reluctantly goes in pursuit of Lucy outside, with Daniel observing both men, his pistol still in hand.

* * *

Desmond tries not to remember how hollow the place had seemed, after walking down endless corridors and hallways. Lucy was at the front, leading the other two, whilst Daniel was behind Desmond. And he was sure he was close behind, because every now and then he would feel a small nudge of the head of his gun against his back, signalling Desmond to walk faster.

The journey had been silent, save for the inhuman noises and cries on the other side of the rooms that they passed down the narrow path. It made Desmond painfully wince, and wonder. What exactly had they been caging? What exactly was on the otherside? Everything looked symmetrical, looked secured and flawless. It reminded him of prison, except Desmond would bet his life on it that the inmates these people were keeping was something far more deadly than your common criminal. And suddenly, he felt a chill descend down his spine.

"We're here." Lucy halts them in front of a large door, her fingers tapping a few keys on the keypad lock next to it, before sliding a card down a slot. The light above the door gleams a bright green, and the door opens.

They all enter inside, this room just as empty and sunken as Desmond would describe any other parts of this building, only difference being fairly larger and the windows that casted the daylight from outside. In the middle of the room, unmistakable, was some sort of bed, strange and curved. It look positively uncomfortable to lie on, but the position it was in, dead point in center, it lured Desmond's gaze. It elated goosebumps on his skin.

"You're late, Stillman."

Desmond sees an aged man, dressed in a lab coat, his hair greying and wrinkles on his face. His hands are folded behind him as he stands by a desk, opposite the alien bed. Desmond predicts the scowling on the old mans face to be a permanent issue. Lucy steps forward.

"I'm sorry Vidic, we were slightly delayed."

"I don't care, just get seventeen into the Animus so we can start."

Everyone besides Desmond is suddenly shifting and moving in place. Daniel grabs him roughly by the arm, and Desmond immediately wrenches away.

"No. I've had enough of your bullshit." he frowns. "No one is telling me what the fuck is really going on here. Why am I here? Who the hell are you guys?"

"You mean to tell me Clay didn't spew anything about us?" said Daniel, snickering. "How unusual for that bastard."

"Enough Daniel, get him into the Animus and stop wasting our time."

"To hell with you assholes!" Desmond yells, his hands clenched into fists. "I'm done with being kept in the dark. You better start telling me what's going on around here."

Vidic glares, raising an eyebrow. "Or what, Mr Miles?"

Paralyzed by the last of his words, Desmond's face twists from its snarl. All the rage that had consumed him scattered, leaving an icy trail in it's wake. So fast did his heart leap, it actually hurt against his chest. "What...did you say..."

"Oh, did you prefer the alias? Mr Randez?" Vidic removes his hands behind his back, walking around his desk and tapping a few keys on the computer that highlighted the screen. "We know all about you, Desmond Miles. All about how you ran away from home. How you barely managed to survive out in the city. How you also managed to land a cushy job as a bartender. It's all here."

"But how...I..." _I was so sure...I was so sure I was safe...no..._

"Let's just say you're not very good at hiding, Mr Miles."

"Wait so...those guys from the other night." A flashback of the day before, and Desmond recalls himself against the wall for the most of it, and plenty of blood. "And that other guy who..." He remembers Travis, remembers the man who tackled him to the ground, and remembers the sharp set of teeth. The pain that shot through his body, and the darkness that came after. A hand goes to the collar around his neck, grasping the band in realisation and horror.

_So, this is it? I'm finally caught?..._

"Daniel, would you kindly help Mr Miles into the Animus?"

"Don't mind if I do."

Daniel callously shoves Desmond, who stumbles forward and away from his prickled thoughts. With his pistol digging into Desmond's back, Daniel leads him to the machine in the middle of the room.

"Get in and lie down." the man grunts, and Desmond is given no time at all to properly examine the contraption before he is abruptly pushed again.

Desmond involuntarily lies on top of the Animus, awkwardly worming in place as he tries to get use to the contours of the machine. He hears a weird buzzing noise ringing in his ears and is startled, as a clear panel from the side of his head arcs over his eyes. Numbers, letters and unique symbols flicker on the screen, forcing his eyes to dart around and twitch. In the distance, he can hear a Vidic barking orders at Lucy, who appears beside Desmond, working away on a machine connected to the Animus. Desmond spots an apologetic look on her face, before the droning sounds around him grows louder. With his heart racing, a sea of white engulfs him wholly.


	6. Paradise

The air was both familiar and intoxicating to Desmond. A scent that helped him escape from all the fumes and ash of his urban jungle. Where he lay still, in serenity, the world around him began to take form. The vast and barren wasteland that he was curtly dumped into flourished with activity. Sharp, angled shapes surrounding him ripped apart. He sits up, expecting some sort of pain to writhe inside his body as another flash of bright white makes him light-headed.

But the world around him dims, Desmond recognises this place oh so well from his most fondest of memories. Colour pours through, and the similarities are impeccable, that Desmond first has a hint of doubt. But the field around him, animated and luminous, he could see beyond the endless plains.

The grass and tiny, pastel coloured flowers peppered the land. Desmond looks to the floor, he has his hands on the ground supporting his weightless body. He can feel the small, strands of grass poking through his fingertips. As he strokes, he feels them brushing against his palms,grazing and teasing.

Dully, he whispers. "Am I...alive?"

Everything is just the same, he notes, his clothes haven't altered at all though and the greenery is practically mirrored. Trees and saplings, the clear blue sky. Only this time the hills in the distance was not clouded by a mist, and he could finally move.

However, this place was far too quiet for his liking, even if they had sent him to a dream world where the warm breeze tickled his skin. It was all too real...and Desmond hesitated to believe it more.

_Why am I...here? Of all places.  
_

Standing wasn't an easy task, he wobbled a little but soon found his balance, his arms weighing. Desmond turns his head, taking it all in and hoping to find anything out of place. And once again, to his doubtful mind, everything seemed spotless and consistent to him, just the wind that rolled on the pasture gave a sense of calm. He begins his walk to no where.

"Hello?" He shouts, and is met with silence. "Hey! Is anyone out there? Hello!"

Not a sound or an echo bounds back to him, and Desmond starts to feel disturbed. He walks on, not knowing where or why, but the scenery never changes. He crosses a hill, his hope fleeting as he managed to climb to the top, overlooking the other side. In result; more continuing fields. Desmond sighs, shoulders sag in defeat. For a land so alluring, that Desmond would bet it could rival some of the most worldly portraits he had seen, he felt saddened. Such vain beauty, and not one soul to share it with.

"There's nothing here."

He shivers, holding himself, before carefully ambling down the hill and onto the meadow. There is a distant glitter, immediate and twinkling from the corner of his eyes. The shine doesn't fade, and his attentions faced the lake far from him nestled beside more hills. He is relieved! A source of energy, or something, if anything, and he runs. He runs both breathlessly and wildly, soon the lake becomes a grand sight. It is enormous and shallow, but Desmond could easily wind up on the other end if he bothered to swim across. There is no life festering in the water, as far as he could tell. The sun danced on the gentle ripples, reflecting both the rays of light and his reflection, crystal clear as the water beneath.

Curiosity sinks him to his knees near the edge and he ventures a hand past the surface, the water being precisely cold as he predicted. Desmond pulls out, checking his hand and the trickles that raced down his arm, vanishing into his sleeves. He then abruptly plunges both his hands into the lake, creating a small splash, then circling them so that it forms a cup. As he pulls out once more, the water spills through the cracks between his fingers, but enough is in the palm of his hands for him to drink from. He pauses, contemplating, before it passes his lips.

Desmond was surprised at how refreshing that had felt down his throat, that he was slightly grateful. Pressing his wet palms on his face, he takes a deep breath, dragging his hands down to his chin. Again, he dips his hands into the lagoon a little more enthusiastically, before splashing his face. Two more times he repeats this, rinsing and then wiping the water clear from his eyes, nostrils and mouth. He feels revived. Desmond rubs his face in attempt to dry himself, pinching his nose as he does. He blinks, there is a brief smile, until the surface of the lake alarms him.

The colour of red and black splits across the shoal, and Desmond mistakes it as if the water had been tainted without his notice. But the ripples and the way the water shifted, it is but a façade of the sky growing a dark. It turns a more terrifying shade as he looks up. The sky appears as if it's on fire and twisted, that as the clouds gather, it reminds him of molten lava. He stands, searching, trying to make better sense of what's happening.

"What the...what the hell?" he babbled. "Why is it...what's going on here?"

There is an acute change in the wind, becoming boisterous and chilling. It would have knocked Desmond over, had he not kept his feet firmly to the ground. He shields his eyes, his arm protecting him with each gust. It isn't loud at first, still, Desmond navigated voices not to far from where he stood. He ascends up a small hill with some effort nearby, a scene before him screamed war.

Two distinct groups are gathered but well away from one another, and himself. To the left, people dressed in glorious and decorative golden armour. Wearing helmets and held extensive weaponry that reminded Desmond of Roman legionnaires. They all stood in the numbers, side by side and in tactical formation. Opposite them, savage and fierce, were beasts. Desmond could not quite place it if they were animals, the closest being wolves. Though they were on all four, had fur and a much larger set of fangs. They definitely carried a much heavier mass of muscle than ones he could imagine. Desmond shuddered at the thought of meeting one face to face.

A figure steps out from the army of men and women, clad in an apparel more extensive and higher classed. His voice bellows, loud and clear. "Give up now, wolves! Spare yourselves a pointless defeat and go back into hiding!"

"Hiding?" one snowy coloured creature crawls out from the company of wolves, and Desmond is shocked. A man donned in primitive, fur clothing takes his place at the front of the crowd, after Desmond blinks for a second time.

_Did that man just?..._

Desmond notes the mans right eyelid is close, a faded pink scar running across it. This unknown, olive-skinned man continues."This land belongs to all of us! We share this world. And you, humans, have defiled everything that has been given to us. How careless and thankless you all are."

A ripple of outward howls and barks from the wolves behind him are heard in agreement. The man leading the people only chuckles, with Desmond betting that under that helmet of his was a confident smirk.

"You demons that talk like us, stand like us and look like us think you have a right?" he shakes his head in dismay, before spitting at the ground. "Disgusting."

"Do not berate our powers just because we have evolved into greater beings." The other man glares. "This gift is an endowment from the creators as both a blessing and a clear signal for you all. We are here to warn you that your unforgivable deeds will come at a high price, humans. Should you go on to do such disgraceful acts, we will be there to stop you."

"Even by sacrificial means?"

Desmond sees the man's only visible eye hardening. "War does not come without sacrifice, you of all people should know. But we can still find peace among us!"

"Peace." the armoured man reflects, and Desmond swears he spots him almost faltering. "No. Not with us. Not with your race, my friend." his voice chokes, as he unsheathed the sword on his side. It glimmers slightly causing the other man to frown. "Once, there was such a thing. But not anymore! To arms, my people! To arms!"

"Stand down, Seth!" there is desperation in his cry. "Please! We do not need to spill blood. My brother, please reconsider!"

"So it comes to this, hm? Begging?" said Seth, full of malice. "You half-breeds always did know how to bow down to your masters, when all else fails. Hah!"

"Seth! No!"

"And this...this will lead your demise!"

Seth proudly pulls something clutched in his other hand, hidden under his velvet cloak all along. Desmond registers the orb to be a brilliant gold, with faint lines and curves engraved onto the surface. There is horrified look on the other darker skinned man, of fear and disdain for the object.

"How dare you...are you nothing but a coward, Seth? To use the very object that sent your own blood brothers to their grave?"

"I am no coward!" his fingers tighten around the orb. "And do not speak of my brothers, monster! But you and your kind, today, you shall all taste my wrath! You will all die and rot in the depths of hell!"

Seth is the first to sprint forward, before the rest of his people follow in their numbers. Their battlecry roars as they run forth, gradually closing the gap between themselves and the wolves. There is hesitation on the other mans face who is leading the beasts. He takes a deep breath, his sight dead set on the on coming threat, especially on Seth.

"Charge!" He yells finally.

Desmond forgets. He forgets himself, forgets everything else and that he is trying to escape this chaotic world. He loses himself, and he runs down the hill towards the fray without a second thought. He had never felt himself dash so fast in his life. The wind whipped past him, his jacket flapping. But there lay a burning desire in his heart. Something inside was breaking. Everything else was telling him no after the first step, his mind clinging.

_Don't do this. _

_Don't run. _

_Don't be a hero._

_It is too late._

The first blood is spilt, a large sword penetrates the stomach of a wolf who tried to tackle, and a painful cry is heard. Another wolf jumps right after at an incredible height and pounces on one of the soldiers, tearing ruthlessly at his neck that torn flesh is seen through its fangs. One after another, man and beast clash. Teeth and claws, fists and blades. And Desmond keeps running, feet overlapping, threatening to trip him over but he doesn't care. A hand reaches out, and he pleads.

But his voice is swallowed, just as everything else is. They all slow down, they all shatter around him. Crumbling, a light seeps through, and Desmond catches a faint glow from the ball within the hands of a war consumed man.

* * *

"We found it." a voice breathless is followed by a short cackle. "We finally found it...ahaa...haha!"

"What? His vital signs are accelerating, this isn't right-"

"After all this time, he finally have proof of its existence."

"Oh god, he's going into shock. Help me!" Lucy scrambles to keep Desmond still, looking over her shoulder. "Warren, please!"

"The hell is he flailing for?"

"Shut up Daniel and help me!"

"No way." he sneers. "That fucker could bite me the way he's spazzing like that!"

"Please Daniel! Warren- gah!" Desmond violently thrashes making Lucy jump, but her arms are still holding him down. "I need the sedative, now!"

"-and we just need to find the location where it's hidden. It's all coming together now..."

"Vidic, please!"

"Hmm?" Warren glares at Lucy most tiresomely, displeased he was interrupted from his daydreaming. "Fine. Daniel, help Stillman him hold down, I have the sedative under my desk."

He reaches under the table, lazily searching for the object needed. He pulls away, studying the syringe in hand, flicking the vessel, marvelling at his own pace. The liquid inside is crystal clear, accompanied by the sharp, thin needle at the other end. Warren walks over them, Desmond still struggling under their grip and Warren scowls.

"Hold him still you two! We can't afford to lose this one."

Lucy allows Warren some space near Desmond's neck, she doesn't let go and helps comb back some fur, revealing some skin underneath. Without hesitation, Warren inserts the needles, injecting and easing the drug into his system. And soon enough Desmond's body ceases to writhe, twitching involuntarily seconds later, his chest raising up and down gently.

Daniel pushes off, clearly uninterested, as does Warren. But Lucy stays. She stays and stares into Desmond's troubled gaze. There is panic written all over his face, unsure and unaware of what's happening. Lucy looks at him, almost lovingly and sympathetically. She carefully holds one of his front paws, rubbing and petting the fur on his head as he starts to black out. She leans closely, her scent penetrating Desmond's nostrils. It is light and sweet, bearable unlike most fragrances Desmond finds on women; he inhales it.

"Shhh." her voice soft and lulling. "I promise you, I'm going to get you out of here."

He doesn't reply verbally, he can't. All their voices and the noise surrounding him slowly drowns out. Desmond leaves her with his ragged breaths, and the flutter of his eyes as they close.

* * *

Clay swears he can hear a ticking somewhere nearby. He was unsure where the sound was coming from, but it was growing, louder with each passing second. Pressing his thumbs together, keeping his composure, his ears started to burn. He was becoming impatient, and worried. Clay sat in a corner, far from the door, in his little, empty, white room. Alone.

_Where are they...what happened to him...what are they doing to him?_

Punctual as ever, dinner rounds had arrived. But Clay could smell nothing, no sensual odor beyond that door. There was a familiar presence, oh yes, but it was tampered. Someone was suffering behind that door, and by then Clay had already made it to his feet before the door was swung open. Two men either side of Desmond was dragging him by his arms. Lifeless, his legs dangled behind and head hung lowly. Clay didn't need to see Desmond's face to know he was in distress.

"Your friend here had a bit of a nasty accident. Poor bastard _transformed _while he was on the Animus." said Daniel, appearing from the back. "But, like the gracious hosts that we are, we took care of him. Don't worry."

Clay was having none of his attitude today. "Fuck you Daniel! What did you guys do to him?"

"Oh, I don't think I like that tone, Kaczmarek." Daniel nodded. "Throw 'fresh meat' in there."

"Fran!"

Carelessly they tossed Desmond's body into the room. Clay managed to catch his arm and torso, before falling backwards to the floor himself, trying to cradle the unconscious man. At least Desmond didn't face plant the floor. Clay glared at all three, with Daniel simply disregarding.

"We'll be back for the runt later. Try to good care of your cell mate, yeah?"

All three of them turned to leave, but Clay quickly called to Daniel attentions.

"Cross."

"Hn? What now?"

He repositioned himself more comfortable, sitting down cross-legged with Desmond sleeping in his arms. "...Вы никогда не будете находить рай."

And there he saw it, Clay saw Daniel flinching in place. Though he only saw his back, Clay knew that Daniel had heard him. But the man refused to turn around, enough was enough for him for one day.

"We'll see, Kaczmarek." Daniel lifts a hand and closes the door. "We shall see."

The lock is heard, and once more the little white room was quiet. Clay's face changed from anger to concern, scanning Desmond's body, trying to see anything out of the ordinary. There was an obvious difference from the man he first met. A pose of discovery, of revelation and...familiarity. He could not ignore the rueful riddled look on Desmond's face however, the scrunched up brows and struggling breaths he took was proof enough that they had something terrible to him.

With minutes passing Clay allowed the silence to continue, holding Desmond like a fragile infant. His back curved and ached, but he smiled. Desmond was starting to look well-rested. Naturally, his body was recovering itself. Clay took this chance to push back some of his own unkempt hair shielding his eyes, and his smile widened. Desmond's eyes started to twitch alive.

"...nngh...w-where...what did I.."

"Hey Fran," Gently, the blond man called to him. "It's me."

"Mmm...C-Clay? What the-" Desmond winces, trying to lift his heavy head. But Clay gingerly pushes him back, his hand resting on Desmond's chest.

"Easy now, Abstergo did something to you. Just relax, they knocked you out pretty bad."

"They...Abstergo?" Desmond questions, panting. He relaxes himself in the arm that held him, the will to move completely driven out. "Those...bastards..."

Clay couldn't help but laugh. "Mhm. Couldn't have said it better myself. But, do you remember anything before you passed out?"

It takes a while before Desmond could reply, his mind making awful cringes every time he tried to lock onto a memory. They were all broken, bits and pieces gone astray and Desmond couldn't seem to place them back together. It hurt and confused him, what ever they had done to him, they made sure that his own well-being was that last thing on their priority. And whatever else Desmond was feeling at that moment, damaged or lost or the same, Clay had noticed.

"You don't have to answer if you can't, maybe-"

"No." Desmond tries harder. "I...there was a place, this place...and others. I-"

"Fran, listen to yourself-"

"I was there." Desmond doesn't care, he doesn't stop now. "I was in this beautiful place. Massive, i-it went on for miles. And it was so crazy beautiful Clay, believe me. I just...the sky was so clear there. There was this big lake too."

"I..." Clay listens, eyes narrowing. "I believe you, okay?"

"Yeah. You do?" Desmond looks up at him this time, eyes glassy as if he just woke.

Such inquisitive eyes, Clay had not seen such an expression in a while. "Why not?"

"I don't know...maybe it sounds mad."

Clay merely chuckles. "Maybe, but I'd like to see this paradise of yours."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Sorry if I managed to butcher up the language there! I don't know a lick of Russian...(google trans. go fig)


	7. Escape

Desmond was no longer lying on Clay's lap, he had already crawled off into his own personal space, slightly embarrassed by the situation earlier. He rested himself against the wall in silence, thinking otherwise. Clay, on the other hand, had taken no mind at all. After all, he did take it upon himself to let Desmond rest for a while in his care. It was Clay, who did not mind his burdens. This smiling man, still a stranger to Desmond. And so, begs the question, why did he? Desmond keeps to himself, with his cellmate opposite him looking content, as if meditating to himself. Desmond could have easily mistaken that he had fallen asleep sitting up.

A loud tapping rang through their ears, and both heads turned to the door. Underneath, chrome bowls filled with chowder slipped through the flap, and an unpleasant smell wafted through the air. Clay got up walking over, picking each bowl in hand. He strides over to Desmond, who watched his every step. Though Clay knew, time and again, Desmond would refuse to eat as such, he offers none the less.

"Here, you haven't eaten the last few meals, you know."

"Yeah..." An effortless reply.

"Umm, yeah so...you should probably eat then-"

"Okay."

Of course, Clay is surprised when Desmond's weak, shaking hands lift finally accepting his proposal. He notes that Desmond doesn't actually stand or tries to raise his body up. The poor boy was seriously weaker than Clay originally thought. And so, he bends down, pushing the bowl into Desmond's trembling hands. Clay should feel more worried, but he was simply happy Desmond was starting to respond.

"There. Don't eat it too fast."

"Right..."

Clay sits next to him, with the latter looking over his own food, not bothered by the others shared warmth. He ventured a guess to what Desmond was doing. Inspecting the substance, checking for anything that might kill him, naturally. But for Desmond, he wasn't examining, entirely. He was challenging himself. Wondering why, why did the thick gruel in his grasp look so much more appetising than before? That the times before where they were served, he would not eat, would not dare to watch Clay even eat fearing he might vomit. But now...now there was no excuse, he was starving and he didn't care.

Desmond notices Clay has already tucked into his food, his hand covered as if he had grabbed a handful of grime. Well, the way the food looked it wasn't far from it. He doesn't seem to be choking, or struggling, which helps ease Desmond's doubt. There is now a generous amount of gruel in his hand, he feels the 'foods' porridge-like texture, before it nervously passes his lips.

He waits.

_It's...not that...bad?_

He swallows thickly.

It's another few more timid bites before Desmond feels comfortable. He eventually takes mouthfuls before his bowl was half empty. Clay had long already finished his, and set aside his polished dish. Lips smacking, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, satisfied.

"So, if you don't mind me asking," Clay picks his teeth with his tongue. "earlier actually, what exactly were you on about?"

"About what?"

"Well, you were probably delirious I'll have to say," there's a slight chuckle. "but you were so damn sure of this 'paradise' of yours."

A nervous swallow. "Paradise?"

And realisation hits Desmond, he wasn't delirious at that moment at all. Sure, Desmond was exhausted mentally and physically, but if it had to be one thing he could remember briefly, was that world of his. An illusion though simple and delicate. His face heats, remembering how ridiculous he must have sounded, babbling on to Clay like some overly zealous child.

"I'm...not sure if I would call it that." he admits.

Clay gives him a look. "And why not?"

Desmond lowered his bowl to his lap. "Because it doesn't look like paradise at all?"

"Really?" Clay has his hands behind his head. "So what does your kind of paradise look like then?"

"Paradise looks like-" Desmond pauses abruptly, trying to rephrase his answer, or rather, unsure of what Clay was asking of him. Was he asking him what that world looked like? Or, more curiously, was Clay asking him his own? All this, and suddenly, Desmond was starting to feel more aware of Clay's presence next to him.

He finally answers. "I don't know."

"That's fine." That time spent thinking, Clay noted Desmond's obvious apprehension. "Bet it was beautiful though, the way you kept going on about it."

"Mmm. Probably." Desmond can feel his face heating up again, and does his best to brush past it. "Wait, I kind of...recall earlier, before they took me away I mean. You said something about a fairytale, about why we're here right? Something they can't find without us..." Clay is surprisingly quiet and still, as Desmond presses on. "What did you exactly mean, Clay?"

"Home." said Clay, after a moment of silence. This is the first time Desmond ever notices Clay looking so drained yet composed. "That is paradise. What they want, and I'm betting what you saw inside the Animus is Eden. And they," he turns to Desmond with a frown. "they'll stop at nothing to have it. To find it...to destory it."

Desmond feels lost, as if he was back in that vast world of his. He tries to understand, searching in Clay's eyes. "Destory paradise?"

"We can't let them just have it. Don't you see, Fran?" Clay places a hand on Desmond's shoulder with a tight grip. "They are not allowed anymore."

The instant that Clay looks up at the door, it slides open with three familiar figures barging in. Each looking as intimidating as before, they were instantly cornered. Daniel approaches out from behind with an air of superiority, without a care, without regard.

"Oh, so sorry to disrupt the two of you getting cosy down there, but the boss wants to have a few words with the new one." he nods off to Desmond.

"Fuck off." Desmond mutters under his breath.

"Save it princess," Daniel motions to the other men, and they draw closer. "this doesn't have to get all handsy, mind you."

Clay doesn't snap, doesn't fight this time. He is not tired, but there is defiance and reluctance when he lets his hand go off Desmond, who stands with mild irritation. And he watches them leave all over again, left with the image of their backs turned and the doors shut. As they walk along, Daniel shoves Desmond forward, forcing him to stumble slightly.

"Come on, we haven't got all day."

Desmond rubs his shoulder. "And where are you taking me this time, dare I ask?"

"No where special. We're just gonna have you cleaned up is all, and you're going to have a nice, long chat with the boss," Daniel's voice lowers. "and you're going to behave and comply like a good little puppy, got it?"

At the risk of being shoved again, Desmond forces his answer. "Got it."

* * *

He could still feel the short, droplets of water trickling down his neck from his hair. Coming out from a cramped room that had rows of shower heads, lined together with very little spacing in between. Privacy was obviously the last thing these people had on their minds. He was forced to have a quick shower, five minutes no less, Desmond hardly felt clean. Even though he showered alone, the rotating cameras and their empty, black lens' in the corners of the ceiling did little to comfort him.

Daniel's voice rang through the vents and the walls, as Desmond quickly got dressed in what surprisingly looked like his own clothing back in his apartment. Walking out of the room, the three men waited outside. Desmond fixes the front of his hoodie, avoiding their gaze.

"So...what? You guys raided my apartment and took my clothes?" said Desmond, and Daniel takes lead again. "Or these...these pretty much look like-"

"Lucy said it would help with some distress if you wore something familiar." Daniel turns a corner and the others follow suit. "Not that I actually care, sounds like bullshit to me."

Desmond couldn't help but sneer. "Clearly."

They eventually stop in front of a door, one that reminded Desmond of the room the Animus was kept in. Not that he wouldn't be surprised if he was lead back to the same place really. Daniel presses an unknown sequence on the keypad at the side of the door, making Desmond shuffle nervously in place.

"I- what exactly...is this place?"

"You're going to go through a series of tests." Daniel's hand slips to his side. He doesn't bother facing Desmond. "Blood samples and questions," there's a small snicker. "and then...we'll send you back into the Animus."

A scowl graces' Desmond's face. "Oh joy..."

The door slides open to a dark, hollow room, making Desmond really wish he was back in that brightly lit cell with Clay. A rough, painful grip on his shoulders from the two lackeys that had trailed them veers Desmond forward. Unwilling and apprehensive, he is ushered in, feeling vaguely trapped. Before the doors shut, he hears Daniel's smug voice from behind.

"Remember; behave and comply, little puppy."

* * *

It's an unbarable ache when Desmond wakes up again. He doesn't wake up in his shoddy apartment though. With a groan, he lifts his head from the warmth of someones legs, Clay's lap. Desmond makes his hasty retreat once more, an arm wrapping around his waist as he shuffles on the floor. Clay is complacent and calm with his reaction, does not scowl or glare. He smiles, hiding the uncertainty in his eyes and it works.

"Easy now, they threw you in here again," he says. "unconscious this time though. You looked...pretty bad."

"Yeah?" Desmond clutches himself, a throbbing pain shoots up his left arm and he stifles a moan. "Well, I feel bad. I feel like shit actually." he leans against the wall, every now and then he feels his muscles cramp. Not to mention the pain he felt under his eyes. "Ugh...what did they even do to me?"

"My guess is they took a blood sample from you, and you might have passed out from the pain in the Animus." Clay rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Can you recall anything else?"

"No," Desmond shrugs. "I mean I don't exactly remember a lot. My head is feeling a little fuzzy right now. But they put me in the Animus again. I don't really know what happened...but Vidic didn't sound happy for the most of it. He said something about going in circles. I didn't understand."

"I see," Clay pauses. "you were probably sent back into a time that wasn't necessary, or something. Was there anything else?"

"Well, they asked me some questions, questions I didn't have any answers to. And...when I couldn't answer them..." he lays a finger under his eye and he twitches, there's definitely a bruise swelling there.

Clay folds his arms, taking a deep breath. "Not surprised, you'd think they'd throw in the welcome mat to us once in a while like they did for Daniel and Haytham," he shakes his head. "obviously not for us mongrels. Everyone of us had to go through this...so, you're not the only one."

"Not the only one?" Desmond clenches his fists, but he's holding back from snarling at his only companion here. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Hey, man, don't take it out on me." Clay's voice is mellow, but it only manages to further irritate Desmond.

"I don't care! I'm left in the fucking dark for god knows how long I'll be here!" he spat, but Clay was calm. Though it appeared Clay was aloof, the man was listening to him. All too seriously, all too well in fact, as if he had heard this all before. "I'm sick of this place...I'm sick of it."

"So what am I then?"

"What?"

"Me." his eyes narrow, and Clay continues to challenge his gaze. "You think I'm having a good time here too?"

"What? Wait, I-"

"You think I'm getting a kick out of wearing this collar?"

"No-"

"You think I'm not tired of the things they've done to us?"

"I'm just saying-"

"You think I'm not sick of this place?" he raises his voice, almost to the point of yelling, almost. But Clay doesn't, there is enough rage emitting through his throat. "Answer me this, will you?"

"Clay...I don't...I'm-" Desmond could have sworn he saw Clay's pupils dilate for a split second into thin slits. "I'm just- I didn't think properly, okay? I didn't think about it." There is a sense of defeat as he replies, exhaustion and sadness. It is all Clay can do to muster up, and swallow his anger away.

"I know." he rubs his temple. "I know..."

Between the two men, they're frozen in tension and silence. Desmond licks his chapped lips, wanting to say something, anything to melt it all away. He knew it hurt to be in physical pain, like he was now. But it hurt a lot more to be caged in the aftermath of what he could only describe as a fight between friends. Could he even call each other that? They are still strangers by name, and yet...

"Umm...Clay?" his tone is agitated, and Clay immediately calls it.

"I know Fran, it's okay. We're good, okay? We're good."

"Ah, right."

"We should rest...or, you should really rest."

"I should." Desmond's eyes start to flutter. "I will."

* * *

These dreams of his were starting to become horrifying, colourless and lasting. They claw mercilessly at his mind, a force burning in Desmond's chest, and he is a powerless man. These dreams, nightmares, overlap with the events that happen with him in the Animus. At times, they make no sense, they draw out random scenarios and pictures for him to watch, never to be apart of, like a ghost. And other times, the more scarier times, they become loud and fiery. They repeat themselves so much so, he develops a headache. Torn between fantasy, and reality, it takes up so much of his energy that Desmond collapses, and when he's done, they're also done with him also.

It's a continuing process that neither party can understand. Day after day, if Desmond can call it that, he is quickly thrown into the Animus as he is quickly pulled out. He can barely listen to straight conversations with the people who infested the dream world. Vidic made it prompt that he was meant to find something important. But for some strange and unexplained reason, he was pushed backwards in time. Before man and beast waged war, before all the bloodshed and the golden object that Vidic so desperately needed, there was real peace between the two races. Desmond would have liked to have explored a time like this, to simply appreciate it had he not be unceremoniously yanked in and out of time periods.

Yet, if there was one thing that Desmond could believe, though spun and weaved in a blur through times not of his own, there was a society of creatures and men.

"Fran?"

Once.

"Fran! Wake up, come on!"

It was distant and faint over the drowning alarm that blared, but it was Clay calling and shaking him awake. When Desmond tried to open his eyes, he struggled with the balance of both keeping them open and listening to Clay. He was beginning to sound more urgent, more commanding when he jerked Desmond's body. And so Desmond finally snapped, his eyes wide open much to Clay's relief. He was hoisted up, Clay's arm supporting his back as he sat up.

"Finally you're awake," Clay pants. "else I'd have to carry you, w-we...have to hurry now!"

"Clay?" Desmond slurs, the buzzing noise becomes more blatant. "What are-...why are you-"

A gunshot fires outside of the room, so loud it rings in Desmond's ears, he flinched. Clay wastes no time in helping Desmond to his feet, placing an arm around his shoulder as he leads them both to the door. The same door that never opened unless there was authority, was now unhinged and battered, swinging aside.

Desmond blinks, ridding away his sleep. "What the- what the hell happened here?"

Howls and the scamper of little paws could be heard not to far from them. A couple of gun fires pierce the air later, and the barking ceases. The sound of boots stomping the ground, marching hastily pass their room. It surprises Desmond again, his heart races, but Clay has a firm grip on him now, on the hand around his neck, and he wasn't letting go anytime soon. But he can feel Desmond tremble slightly against him, and his grip tightens.

"Clay...?"

"No time to explain, we're getting out of here Fran," a sound near to excitement was in his voice, as he turns to face his friend with softer smile. "I told you she'd get us out of here."

"Get us out of here? She, who?"

He takes a few steps forward, and they're nearly out the door. "Lucy."


	8. Sacrifice

It's not a moment too soon when the smell of smoke brings tears to Desmond's eyes. The intensity of it, acidic and powerful. His coughing only worsens as he feels his throat seizing up and he needs to stop moving. A quick breath of fresh air would have been a godsend right now. But Clay, on the other hand with his gripping hold on him, commended Desmond to keep walking forward with him in time. Without a word, without hesitation, each small step taken together. He wasn't about to stop now, not with the possibility of the guards lurking in every corner. The alarms in every hallway are just as deafening as the next in each corridor they pass. Clay forces himself to focus, to ignore the rattling sound.

"We'll get out of here," Clay says, his jaw clenched,, "I swear it, we're gonna get out of here."

He halts at a turning point, a fork in the road. Neither way appeared pleasant, however, not with the spray of blood coating and dripping from the walls and debris all around them. The lights above them begin to spark and flicker, and Clay can only pray Desmond isn't in awe as he was. He takes one look at the man spluttering on his shoulder, the struggle and his eyes that were half-lidded. Desmond looked like a mess, but at least he was half awake.

The stench of fresh blood does not help either, it is both awful and overwhelming. But it overpowers his senses, and Clay takes the route away from the smell, hopefully to avoid a predicament that he or Desmond could have ended up in. It is a big risk, a task to drag himself and another across the hall, where they stumble so often. So Clay tries to remember, the lane and turns he had passed before. When he had first arrived battered and bruised down these corridors, when he first met Lucy, Daniel and the rest of them in white coats. When they told him a tale of lies that Clay knew better than to believe. That the day Clay was robbed of his freedom, he vowed an quivalent exchange for their actions. To him and for everyone else trapped here. That included Desmond.

"Easy Fran," he takes a deep breath. "we're almost there, I can feel it. You still with me buddy?"

Clay earns a disgruntled reply from Desmond. "Nghh...I'm- trying...i-it's hard to move."

"I know I know," a quick survey of their surrounding options, and Clay comes across more separate paths, "shit I don't remember this- just hold on to me okay? I think it's this way-" his muscles contract, and Clay's heart seizes in his chest as he makes the rapid decision to back himself and Desmond against the wall. Just as Desmond was about to question the sudden movement, footsteps run straight pass them on their side of the wall, clunky and loud. Voices barking orders accompany the same moving crowd.

"They went this way!"

"Don't lose them!"

"Remember, we don't need all of them. Find Subject 17."

"What about the others?"

"Like I said, we **don't** need all of them. You see any of the rest of them, shoot them in the face."

Desmond sinks against the wall, their words piercing him like a stab in the dark. He feels his hand unconsciously grasp the metal band around his neck. The collar and the numbers rub under the skin of his fingers, and he breaks into a sweat. It was loud and clear to him, clear as day. They didn't need anyone else now, they needed **him.** The thought scares him, unsure and as to why, but Desmond feels it. Isolation.

"Fuuuck, that was a close one." Clay sighs besides him, hearing the guards pass. "Alright, I think they've passed now. Let's keep moving."

"Clay."

Pausing to turn back, Clay finds Desmond still slumped against the wall. "Huh?" Shoulders sagging, he goes back. "Ohh come on, this isn't exactly the best time to relax, we really need-"

"What is it about Lucy?" he interrupts, and pushes himself off the wall. "You said so earlier. Lucy got us out of here? Why. Why did she?"

"Fran, please-"

Desmond doesn't stop. "And just what the hell is going on here? I'm not getting any straight answers from anybody! I still don't understand why the hell I'm here, and I know, you told me before. Some shit about Eden like I'm suppose to fucking know! And...And now they're trying to actually **kill** us," he takes a deep breath, and lets it all out, "I just...Clay, don't I have a right to know? Or does this," and he grabs at his collar tightly, shaking it. "did this take everything away from me?"

A hand is placed on his shoulder, and Clay stands right in front of him showing signs agitation. "Lucy got us out, yeah. She got help. I don't know why everything is back firing though. I just know she got us out, I know it's her. And why? Well," the way he punctuated his words forced him to lick his dry lips, "she wants her place in paradise, that's all. Even though she's not one of us, even though she knows this she still thinks- she's still gonna try...like, some of her friends too." The hand slips and is tucked into Clay's hair. Weariness appears, his patience thinning. "So there's your straight answer. I know it's not all of it but still. The least I can do, right?"

Desmond almost forgets how forced that hand was. Forced and yet, he felt it shake. He is left speechless as Clay turns again, still spurred to move on. Their eyes held a small instant before Clay looked away, and Desmond did not see them as distressed anymore. They were the deepest of blue and assuring, comforting, gentle even. However fleeting and breath-taking, but it was not Clay anymore, and Desmond's mind splits. It's not Clay he sees standing there anymore.

His mind is scrambling, apart of him feels shell-shocked, feels like he's forgotten. Forgotten him. And it only gets worst as a distant figure flashes before him taking form like a ghost.

"Travis w-wait a sec...how can we trust her? Lucy I mean." It slipped, and he knew. Desmond prays that his words stumbled faster than his breath could catch.

"Travis?" Clay faces him again. "...who's Travis?"

"Huh? N-No, never mind that! We have to find Lucy, don't we?"

Clay presses an even harder look, one that traps Desmond, and he eyes him for a second. "...yeah, I don't know where she'd be though. She told me we were all to meet at another hideout of theirs. She was going to lead us there. But," he grumbles, flicking a hand in the air. "with this place gone to hell, I think getting out right now is our top priority."

"...right." Desmond is silent again, trying to collect his thoughts, or what's left of it. "Clay?"

"What now?" his reply is dull, and that came as no surprise to Desmond. They were both on edge. Desmond knew further more of his questioning was unimportant, for now.

Still. "I was thinking...I mean..." Desmond couldn't help himself. Mumbling his words out just seemed to irritate Clay.

_'I'm not who you think I am.'_

"It's nothing, I can save it for later."

Clay starred on indifferently, unphased. "Alright then, follow me." And it hurt Desmond, not unusual. The moment he decided not to, there was guilt. Like he knew he owed Clay something, anything. The truth even, he was going to settle for that. His name, just that. Then again, Clay didn't seem to type to really care about the little things like that. Maybe that's what made Desmond smile a little. Would anything be different if he were to know, really? Desmond didn't think so.

_'Another time,'_ Desmond repeats. _'later.'_

Quickly, they make their way pass more corridors and open rooms, every turn and place they past was chaotic, like something drawn out from hell. But with Clay's careful guidance, they weren't spotted so far. A few times they had to hide themselves as the footsteps marched on by, and even fewer times did they encounter lifeless bodies that made Desmond want to gag. Bent in such awkward, disfigured positions that Desmond couldn't really tell if the security here was just attacked or _painfully_ torn asunder by a real monster.

That idea plagued Desmond as they walked. The thought of a monster, lurking around the building, waiting. That each step or corner they took could have been their last. But what was more of a curious oddity to him, was the markings left around. Where the armed forces had blood beneath their boots imprinting their footsteps on the floor, occasionally Desmond would see a bare footprint or two, but even more curious, blooded paw prints. Just what the heck were these people keeping caged here?

"Wait, she's close." said Clay, stopping them both at a narrow hallway.

"Who's close?" Desmond questions. "What the heck are you doing, sniffing the air?"

"Duh." Clay shrugs. "Lucy, her scent is strong...I-I mean, we'll she's got a strong perfume, that's all."

Desmond was obviously not convinced. "Uh-huh."

"Don't give me that look Fran," Clay rolls his eyes. Desmond suppresses to widen his smirk. "she can't be far though." He casts his eyes to the floor, as if searching. "I can't tell if she's alone...there's too much blood."

Clay beings to rub his forehead, as if soothing a headache. Just as Desmond walks closer, there's a patter of frantic footsteps in the distance. A split second and they are caught off guard, Clay immediately tries to push Desmond back and himself out of sight. But the figure already is in view, and they've spotted them.

"There you guys are!" Lucy wastes no time and runs over to them, her heels clicking the floor, hair undone. "Thank god I found you before they did," she pants, "t-they were killing everyone off in sight. I tried to stop them, but it was too late. T-The plan...it..."

"Lucy," Clay says. His hands are gentle on her shoulders, attempting to calm her. "Lucy listen to me. You can tell me...**us** later, okay? We have to get out first."

Lucy nods. "Sure...yeah." Her breathing settles. She smiles weakly at Desmond, who does the same in return. "We need to head over to the shower rooms, there's a pipe there that will lead us outside."

"Pipes? The shower room?" said Desmond, both he and Clay look at each other questionably, then back to Lucy.

"Isn't there another way? Like...an emergency escape route?" Clay asks.

"Are you kidding me?" Lucy laughs softly. "Abstergo's not stupid, of course they've got their tracks covered there. Practically everywhere, and it's a damn miracle they didn't find you at all."

"But we can get past them," Clay urges, "I can help us get past them."

"No," she shakes her head, "they've already got Haytham and Daniel patrolling. And Vidic's furious right now, we'll all be shot on sight I guarantee it. Well..." her voice softens, Lucy's eyes slide over to Desmond, who swallows, feeling his body tense. Clay beside him is doing no better, in fact, Desmond can practically feel his inner turmoil. But there was enough will inside that Clay pushes all his frustrations aside.

"Okay then," Clay sighs. "lead the way."

"Right," says Lucy. "I'll...try to explain on the way."

"Good."

She moves forward, leading them. All her footsteps were cautious and precise, as the boys follow suit. She made sure she was quiet enough for them to hear when she spoke again. "The shower rooms shouldn't be too far from here, security is more concerned about their exits and entry right now."

Speaking of showers, Desmond recalls the other day about being in one, or forced into rather. Very momentarily. His wish to shower in his own privacy and pace, of course, was denied due to Daniel's insistent self, and the fixated surveillance cameras eyeing his naked body. He shudders, a very humiliating moment indeed.

Clay scoffs. "Hardly. Looks like they're more concerned about killing us off really."

"There **was** panic," Lucy stresses, "they were all panicking after what I did, letting you all out. You can't blame them really, they underestimated you guys-"

"_I can't blame them?_" Clay sneers, and he is glaring at her. She fires back with mild disregard.

"I wasn't saying it like that Clay, please."

A roll of the eyes and a noise of disapproval was his answer. Desmond just does his best to keep up and stay out of the way. "Just let me know if you start to sense one of them though, okay?" she says, he stride increases and she takes another turn. "I'd really like to avoid any of them right now."

"Yeah. You know, it's kinda hard though. There's...a lot of blood to pass by, I-I know you can't smell it but..."

"I know Clay, I know." She says with a sad smile. "Just try to."

"There was a lot of them, Lucy. Seriously." Clay's voice dips. "There was just so many we passed, so many I felt back there. How did this even happen? How'd this get out of control I thought you said-"

"No," Lucy says, stopping in place. She is upset, it's obvious. Even with her back to them, Desmond saw the way she stood. The way she wanted to isolate herself from them. How she held herself up, so still and yet - she was shaking. "I know what I said to you, I know. Just...please Clay, I'm sorry it didn't go the way I had planned. I didn't mean for any of you guys to get hurt..."

"Lucy, I-" Clay feels the brush of a hand laying on his back, a light push against him. "We should keep moving." Desmond says, concerned and looks at both of them. He's relieved he's actually done something rather than stay in back in silence, because they knows he's right. Anymore stalling, and second now could be the end of them.

The expression that reads on Clay's face is familiar to Desmond, one of confusion and unanswered questions. If that is how he looked every time he talked to Clay, Desmond suddenly feels troublesome. What a sight for sore eyes that must have been.

"Here," Lucy takes one last check around them before pushing the door open to the shower rooms. "get in quick."

"Where is it?" Clay was quick to ask as soon as they all entered. As Lucy left the door ajar, he wandered aimlessly for a bit. Desmond shortly followed, his feet on the damp floor making small, wet pats. Clay soon spotted a metal grate on the floor near the end of the last stall. "This? Is this the one?" He crouches, grabbing a hold of the rails. The corroding of the metal was rough on his fingertips, still he pulls forcefully. "It's not budging. Give me a hand here will ya Fran?"

"R-Right." Desmond bends down, his fingers sift through the grate. Lucy shakes her head at them.

"No, no. He need some sort of leverage." she says, her eyes scan the room.

"Some sort of leverage would be **you **helping us lift this damn thing." Clay grunts, his arms straining.

The grate makes a rusty sound as gravel meets the metallic surface. They are able to lift it partially, and Desmond see's a small opening. "Hey! We're doing it, you guys come on-" Clay drops it immediately, and he removes his hands. "Whoa," Desmond struggles, arms shaking. "w-wait! What the hell man? What are you doing?"

At first Clay ignores him, he is quiet but he's glaring at the door. "Someone...they're coming." His fists ball, but Desmond doesn't notice, he's too busy trying to keep what's little left of the grate's opening that he doesn't hear Clay leave. His fingers started to ache and redden.

"I've found something," The sound of clattering pieces of metal alerts Desmond, and he turns to see Lucy running over to him, the glint of silver shines on her hand. "use this." She lodges the pipe she found in between the grill. "Okay, I'll try lifting it high enough and you push the grate away." Desmond slips his hands to get a better hold, and starts pushing once Lucy has positioned the pipe.

"Almost...Clay?" Desmond calls through clenched teeth. "Clay, come on, we could really use the extra hand now." He takes a look behind himself, and releases the grate causing Lucy let go as well. "Oh god..."

Clay stood, his chest sprayed in dark red. He leans with his blooded hand painting the wall. With his disheveled hair, his blood-coated lips move. "They're...here," he says, throat raspy. He nods to that corpse of a dead man he held by the collar of his coat. "found this weak scout outside." he gulps. "Sniffed him out. No doubt he's called for back up now."

"Then we should hurry," Lucy groans. She doesn't see how Desmond eyes widen to the sight before him. "help us move this thing."

"Yeah..." Clay drops the body.

"Holy shit..." Desmond whispers. His eyes become dizzy as he looks from Clay, to the body, and back again. As if what he was looking at wasn't disturbing enough, he catches a glimpse of Clay's hardened eyes as he walks to them. Cold. Beast-like. Nothing human left inside them. Dark, and vengeful. And what ever was left of dead man he left behind was all of Clay's wrath and more. It made Desmond shudder.

"What," his voice is trembling. "what did you do Clay?"

"I went for his throat." Clay answers with a shrug. "The guy obviously started calling for help," he laughs. "you could literally smell his fear a mile away."

"That's not what I..." Desmond trails off. He stands and walks over to the deceased. Clay does not stop him. Desmond stifles when he shouldn't, something in his mind told him what he knew to expect as he laid eyes on the still-warm body. As Clay said, the man's throat was ripped open, mercilessly. Torn from bite marks that tugged at his flesh, that so much red made his mind blur for a second.

_'Did he really do that to him?'__  
_

The door swings open, a brief rush of air and it knocks into the wall with a loud bang. It only takes Desmond a split second to look up before he finds himself thrown back on to the floor, the wind kicked out from his lungs as he lands. He can't register what happens next so clearly, his head bounced against the floor. But he heard the faint voices of Clay and Lucy calling his name.

"Found you." Daniel teases, looming over Desmond. He plays with the pistol he had in hand. "Hold it," Daniel points his gun warningly at Clay, who stands behind Desmond. "one more step, and I blow your fucking brains out. Yeah?" he cautions, sounding out of breath.

Everyone stayed deathly quiet, until Clay breathed in. "I'm not afraid of you." he glares.

"Well you should be," Daniel says, shaking the pistol. "you see, I make the rules now. So unless you want the remains of your head in pieces all over the poor kid, I suggest you get a little friendly with me."

"Death by a bullet to the head from someone like you?" Clay smirks. "That's a little sad, don't you think?"

"Shut your mouth-"

"You afraid to fight me, is that it Daniel?" Clay interrupts. "You afraid to use your bare hands, your own _claws,_ to fight me?"

Daniel flinched, doesn't say a word, the anger alone radiates off him. Clay takes it as his turn to twist Daniel's hate further, his smirk widens. "What, not sharp enough to kill me? Is that it, Daniel?"

A shuffle is heard on the ground beside them, it draws Daniel from his compressed thoughts. On his back, Desmond shifts, trying to sit up. All the while not noticing the gun that was now directed at him, and the hand that moved with apprehension. "No," Clay says, a leg steps over Desmond, "your fight is with me, Cross."

"A fight huh?" Daniel cocks his head, then a deep breath. He chucks the pistol to the floor, away from him. "Okay, I guess you had this comin' Kaczmarek."

Daniel lunges himself at Clay, his whole body topples over Clay's as they fall to the ground in a violent tussle. Fists were thrown, both men had already taken a couple of beatings from each other, each with a cut or bruise of their own on their faces. They roll until Clay is on his back, struggling with Daniel trying to strangle the life out of him. In the corner of his eyes, he spots Lucy, who is too shaken and alarmed to move a muscle.

"What are you doing," he chokes, grabbing her attention, "get him and yourself out of here, now!"

She blinks, there's fear in her eyes. "But, you-"

"Just go!" Clay yells, using all his might to throw Daniel off from him, before he is attacked again. He has the upper hand this time. "I'll meet you outside, I'll find you both!"

Lucy looks at him, conflict in her eyes, and swallows her shame. She starts to push the metal grate again on her own, her arms tucked back. Desmond stumbles forward, his sight recovering. He can hear Clay repetitively calling for him, tell him to get up and move. Between his blurred vision of Clay looking straight at him, he see's Daniel's fist striking Clay at the last second. Clay smacks against the wall, barely conscious as he slides down the wall.

Daniel wipes his cut bottom lip, panting. He spots the gun he dropped earlier near his feet, a grin plastered on his face. "End of the road, my friend." he says, picking up the weapon, "You were good," he clicks his neck, and aims, "just not good enough."

He lifts the gun a little higher, his finger itchy on the trigger, but Desmond lunches himself at Daniel, who fires a second later. And the bullet scarcely misses Clay's head, creates a small but smoking dent in the wall. Tackling Daniel, Desmond forces the gun off Daniel's hand. Something immersed and lost within him emerges, fighting wildly inside like a caged animal.

"Desmond!" Lucy shouts, but her voice is merely an echo to him.

His mind becomes clouded, enraged without guidance. Desmond knows he's attacking Daniel but he cannot see it, he feels his fists making contact though and then some back, but his brain it telling him to ignore it, to endure it. He knows he's winning under all that blind rage. Through all his disgruntled growls and punches he delivers, he stops when he knows Daniel can no longer fight back. He pants, draws a deep sigh as he calms. His knuckles are now sore and red, where as Daniel was now unconscious and beaten. His face black and blue.

Desmond looks at his hands, then at Daniel. "I..." Blood rushes to his ears, they're ringing and it hurts. "Nghh..." His face falls to his hands, scrunching up entirely. A surge of energy too much to bare, he trembles. His body can not take much more. He has vented, but there was so much more locked up inside. He knows. _It knows. _It was all Desmond could do not to scream his lungs out there and then.

"Desmond," Lucy cries, flings herself away from the floor, "watch out!"

Caught by surprise, Desmond turns a little too late and the kick to his chest brings him to the ground yet again, and it stays there. It pins him there and grinds mercilessly on to his chest until Desmond let's out a painful moan.

"You really are a pup." Haytham says, towering over Desmond. "That adrenaline rush you had back there," he shakes his head, "clumsy and reckless. Simply made you easier to find."

A hand claws weakly at Haytham's leg, aiming to pull him off. Haytham is, of course, unphased. He turns to Lucy with disappointment. "And you, Stillman, why am I not surprised?" A guttural laugh escapes his lips, "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

"Haytham," she starts, "look just let us-"

"You can't really worm your way out of this one," Haytham interjects, "though, you are going to have **a lot** to explain to Vidic. I'm expecting it to be rather painful talk as well."

Desmond squirms underneath, his hands still digging into Haytham's leg. "Get...off me." he wheezes.

"And you," Haytham slides his cold gaze down at him, "it takes two of us to find you? Albeit, you had help. But the humans here," his eyes peer over to the dead man in the corner, the one Clay killed. "useless to the very end."

All at once, Haytham jumps back abruptly, and a feral bark is heard. Something, a beast, jumps at him. With the leg lifted from Desmond's chest, he sucks in all the air he can get, then coughs. It is as little as he can get what with all the smoke in the distance.

"I knew you were awake," Haytham says with a growl, "and you would still be willing to fight. Outstanding, truly."

"Of course," came the reply, a voice heavy and distorted, "our freedom is at stake here. And I'll take you down as well if I have to."

Repeatedly, Desmond blinks. He does so because he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing before him when he turns to face Haytham and his defender. "What the..." and again, he blinks. He looks at the wall, and Clay is not there. The voice is so familiar, though a mixture of two completely different beings. One of an unknown and hoarse creature, and the other of a man that Desmond had spent a few nights with in a locked, white room. And he dares to whisper his name.

"..._Clay?_"

The lowered pointed ears flicked at the mention of the name. Sharp and unyielding eyes glanced at Desmond, they glowed a feverish yellow. "How...?" Desmond mutters, and he is left unanswered. The soft grey and brown wolf before him held it's gaze, as if it was checking Desmond, before turning back to Haytham, it spoke.

"Let us leave, Haytham."

"Unfortunately I can not, you see." Haytham sighs, "But...I don't need the two of you alive after all, just _that_ one. Unconscious, if I must."

Clay snarls, threatening. He walks over to Desmond, making sure his eyes have locked with Haytham, and has his body covering over the still-bewildered Desmond on the floor, protectively. His dense fur barely a breath away from Desmond's body. "You're not taking any of us, understand?"

"You who know so little," Haytham says, challenging Clay's gaze equally. His hand slowly moves down to the side of his body, grabbing a gun on his person. "pity you won't live to see another day."

"No!" Desmond yells out, and Clay already has himself pouncing on Haytham before a shot is fired. Desmond scrambles to his feet, but a loud growl has him frozen. "Don't!" Clay barks, his paws pushing a struggling Haytham down, keeping him there, "just get out of here! Now!"

"What?" Desmond shakes his head, despite his mind still lost, "No, no we're not going-"

"Don't argue with me Fran!" Clay snaps, "You already wasted a chance earlier. Lucy, please! Just take him and get yourselves out! I'll meet you outside, I swear."

"No! I-"

"Desmond, come on!" Lucy springs right next to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him up, "we have to-"

"I can't," he fights back feebly against her, "we can't just leave him!"

"We have no choice!" she hauls him against her, leading them both to the open hole in the ground, "We'll meet him outside, alright?" She pushes him first, and course, he's reluctant. Desmond frowns, he looks back at Clay who's still fighting Haytham off, neither seem to be quitting. He watches the wolf trying to claw and bite, it's jaw's snapping at Haytham as the saliva drips from its fangs.

"Go!" Lucy shoves at him impatiently, and he slowly looks away.

_'We'll be back for you...'_

He climbs down the hole, with Lucy shortly following after. Desmond squeezes himself against the wall, trying to be careful. The stench itself is foul enough. Clay's barks seem echo and bounce off the walls, growing ever more distant. Not knowing where he's ending up in all this darkness, he trips over something slippery, and ends up tumbling down the drain crying out. The last thing he hears before lands in shallow waters was another splash right next to him, and another gun fire.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Chapter was extra long for a reason, because I may or may not find time to update anytime soon as I'll be busy for...like another month xD" but fingers crossed I'll get to put something, if anything, in between! This has been by far my favourite chapter to work on (so much so I was writing until the early morning), and probably the first I've ever made reach 5k words. All grammar mistakes are my own.


	9. Pursuit

"This way, this way!" a guard shouts.

The armed men run down the hallway, past the debris and fallen around them. The rhythmic clatter of their boots stomp down the halls, until they reach their destination, the stalls. The one leading the small army signals the rest for their attention in silence, eyes concentrated. They nod, and he moves forward slowly, his slick-black machine gun pressed tightly against him. With a glove hand, he pushes the door open.

"Don't move!" he orders, pointing his gun at the nearest standing figure. But no sooner does he aim, he lowers a second later. "Wait a minute," he says, "...Haytham?"

"That's," Haytham growls, his back facing them. When he turns gently, his dark and cruel eyes show, lips dripping with blood. He startles the men, "...Mr Kenway to you."

"S-Sorry! Sir," the soldier gulps, "there was call for back up earlier about subject seventeen being here, our communicators fried so we-"

"Our fugitive is down the hole over there to the sewers," Haytham cuts him off, gesturing to the drain nearby, "along with one _Ms Stillman,_ who I suggest you kill on sight if you don't want any more surprise escapes."

"The sewers, sir?" one of them questions.

A glare is sent immediately at the voice, and the curious man wished he had just stayed quiet. "Yes, the sewers," Haytham sneers, "do you need some form of directions? Perhaps a map or a flashlight to help you brave the darkness below, child?"

"N-No, sir! Of course not."

Haytham sighs, "Then you would do well to listen to your orders the first time, before some other hopeful decides to take your job." he then points directly at the hole, "Now go!"

"Y-Yes sir!" collectively the guards address Haytham, before they start to group together. One by one they circle the pipe, then venture down and into the abyss. Haytham watches them in absolute silence, his mind in forethought.

"Mr Kenway, sir," a guard from the back approaches him, anxiously, "what...do we do with the body here?"

"Body?" Haytham turns to the floor, where a young, sandy-coloured wolf laid, bleeding slowly from it's side. It's eyes were colourless, dull and grey. The mouth left hanging open where more blood had poured out and started to dry. Haytham merely rolls his eyes. "Discard it with the rest of them," he says, wiping his bloodied lower lip, eyeing the wolf, "he's no longer a threat to us."

"Yes sir," the guard is complacent, and signals others behind to carry the corpse away, "take this one away away with the rest of them!"

Another of the guards walks towards the wall as a few struggle to lift the wolf together. He heads for the quiet man slumped in the corner during the whole ordeal. "Cross, sir?" he questions, then attempts to lay a hand on his shoulder when he receives no response.

"Oh I wouldn't do that, if I were you." Haytham sharply interrupts, nonchalantly. The man flinches, withdrawing his hand once he gets a good look of Daniel's face, the reaction making Haytham smirk, "He'll most likely snap your arm off if you try, he's in a bit of a trance at the moment you see."

"A...trance?"

"Yes, I suppose so. The boy knows he's done. And what's done is done." Haytham regards Daniel momentarily, the last of his words seem to be a word of advice.

Seeing the emptiness that bares on his face, the lost expression that reads. His eyes then slide over to the pistol that laid still in Daniel's hands. Resting, no longer with a firm grip. The trigger, and the bullet that fired not too long ago still a fresh memory in his mind. Daniel looked dead, in fact, if anyone else were to gaze upon him. Dead, and gone. But Haytham knew, oh he knew too well, what was eating him.

"He'll be back," said Haytham, "he's just a little lost at what to do now."

* * *

They were almost knees deep in the sewage, trudging through the cold, dirty waters. Luckily enough for them it didn't seem to be rising, and they didn't have much trouble walking through. The water currents pulled them along rather than against. And the lighting wasn't so bad as it was dim, a few cracks in the aging walls and other pipes with vents filtered light. They passed and avoided many tunnels. Lucy followed the current, letting it guide her feet as the water rushed past.

"It's gotta be this way," she says just above a whisper, "the water will lead us to the exit, and then we can get out."

"You haven't answered me yet." said Desmond, right beside her.

"Just a few more turns and we're out of here."

"Lucy?.."

"We'll be out of here," her voice is shaking, "and we'll meet up with the rest and-"

"Lucy!" Desmond storms right in front of her, but she doesn't make eye contact, "Damn it, you haven't even answered me yet!"

She looks straight past him, "What is it?"

There's disbelief when Desmond confronts her, "You..." he leers, "you know what's going on! What just happened back there and with that wolf and-" he stops himself for a second in mid-sentence, "...**Clay!**"

Lucy stays frozen in front of him with the same blank expression. And when Desmond doesn't get the reaction he needed from her, he shakes his head, disappointed, "How can you...how could we..." he mumbles, "what...please, just what happened back there?"

_'What happened to me?'_ his mind asks,_ 'What happened to Clay?'_

Desmond feels as though he could fall apart piece by piece in front of her there and then. So many questions left unanswered, and so many new ones appearing. Just when he thought he was getting the truth, he's thrown off course. Running in circles, yet again. "We...shouldn't have...just left him," said Desmond, "that wolf...or Clay..." his face shows he's trying to comprehend the words that are coming out of his mouth, "who ever...I don't understand it, but we shouldn't have."

"...I know," replied Lucy, and Desmond felt like it was a longest time since he'd heard her voice though dull as it was, "I know I shouldn't have Desmond, but I was...you've got to understand."

"Understand?" he grumbles, "Understand what?"

"I was scared," Lucy holds herself, she looked so mournful, "I was shocked. I wanted to help really but I..."

"...You were scared?" says Desmond, quietly. He notes Lucy trying to avoid his eyes again, but at least there was some movement in them.

"When Daniel was about to kill you both, I didn't know what to do," her arms fall to her sides, "I had been trying to get you all out of here but...but they were everywhere and everyone kept going in different directions when I told them what exactly to do." she says, fustrated.

Desmond doesn't say a word, he listens and allows her to continue. "I thought that was it, I thought I was going to be next," she whines, her eyes slowly slide to meet his, and Desmond finds himself tensing up, "then I saw you guys, and I was relieved. I believed we were going to make it out after all this time," she lefts out a single chuckle, "and then Haytham and Daniel ends up finding us. Not surprising. I was too shocked to move, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I-"

"No don't," Desmond disrupts her hastily, "I...it's okay. I still don't understand any of this, but...you did all you could, right? That's enough. I know I'll find my answers for this, eventually. Just maybe not now, I guess."

Lucy merely blinks at him, "...Desmond?"

"I owe you...and I know damn well I owe Clay," he nods to himself, "I guess I was kind of...afraid too."

"You were afraid?" Lucy almost wants to laugh, "Desmond, you beat the crap out of Daniel back there!"

"That's not what I meant," he smiles weakly, "it's...Clay, he never did know my name. I mean my **real** name."

"Oh, that...I did wonder why he kept calling you 'Fran' for a while."

He sighs with a shrug, "My alibi, all this time. Well, until you guys sort of forced your way into my life."

"It was **not** my idea, I'm not with them," Lucy sternly reminds him, "and I'll prove that," she looks behind herself, into the hollow pathway they left, "but...we should get a move on first."

"Agreed," Desmond follows Lucy as she starts to walk in front again taking lead, "but if you're not with those guys then..?"

"It's a long story but," she says with an annoyed sigh, "it's just all my life I've been...fascinated by your kind. There are people like me out there that want to see your world, and then there are those like Abstergo. They want to claim it for their own."

"My kind?" Desmond feels his feet becoming heavier, the water is pulling him down, "This...doesn't have something to do with a place called Eden, does it?"

Lucy nods, "As a matter of fact it does, very much so. It's said that your kind can sense it's presence, it's aura you could say. But only one of you can actually find it. Only they are the key to unlocking what ever is inside Eden."

"And...let me guess, this got something to do with the err...white wolf people keep going on about?" Lucy looks at him expectantly and it doesn't bother him, "Yeah, I know."

"Altair..." Lucy says, quieter, "we've tried to contact him, several attempts actually. But there was no point, of course, Abstergo wanted more than just a _friendly_ chat with him."

"He's _that_ important?"

"Yes," Lucy stresses as they continue to wade through the water, "and if we don't find him before they do then we..." she trails off.

"We?...What?" Desmond watches her become silent, then at her eyes. She was facing forward, gazing. A soft line of light pressed against her skin, her face seemed to glow at that very second. He continues to stare at her, unknowingly, his breath growing heavy. His knees are weak and legs are sore from all the walking they've done so far. He's almost to the point of wobbling as he stands beside her but he holds still, completely unaware of his lips forming a slight curve.

"We're here," she said, carefully treading. She looks back at him, signalling Desmond forward, "come here, to the side."

Desmond slides himself against the arching wall, they were at the exit now finally at the rim of the large and winding sewer pipe. He noted the broken hinge of an old rail cover that used to serve as a filter and hatch. He figures it must have rusted away. The sunlight is more potent now, bright and blinding as they're tucked under the slate of the pipe.

The air is fresh, thankfully, and the warm light and colouring sight before them greatly welcoming. The water had lead them to the reservoir of the all the collected filth and dirt Abstergo left. And before them was a long growth of tree's near an abandon construction site. Tall beams and stacked bricks left undone. It looked like the corner of any old city, and everything seemed more recognizable to Desmond, at least.

Lucy is again, quiet, bracing her hand to the wall watching with intent. Her movements are too subtle, breathing so slow that it's hard to tell if she was moving even at all. Desmond frowns, "What are we waiting for?" he whispers.

"Shh, they could still be out there," she replies, "I just know it. They're just waiting for us on the other side."

Desmond grows impatient, rolls his eyes, "You don't really know that-" something in the distance glimmers, a quick flash, "Wait! Get back!"

Lucy's foot is barely a step away from the rim of the exit before Desmond grabs her to himself. The sound of a firearm is loud like the crack of a whip, but the noise zips past them none the less plunging into the water, awfully too close for comfort. Both Lucy and Desmond find their hearts racing, eyes widened with clarity.

"Oh my god," Lucy punctuates every word, almost breathless, "was that...did they just?"

"Snipers," Desmond growls, "fuck...we're done, that's it. They're going to scope us the second we walk out of here!."

"What?" Lucy lifts her hair from her face, pulling away from Desmond with unease. Her arms and hands go around her waist, "No...oh god, how are we even going to..."

There isn't much Desmond can think of doing to ease her troubles, just watching her makes him nervous. He needs to think fast. This was not the time to scramble and worry, after all, they were still being hunted. There was honestly only two options, however. Go forth and risk it, or turn back to suffer a fate possibly worst than he could imagine.

_'No,' _Desmond glares aimlessly into the dark, _'I'm...we're not going back there.'_

"Lucy, I have a plan," he says, and it's only now that Desmond can see the exhaustion in her eyes, "it's not...a perfect plan, but we don't have much of a choice. We basically need to split."

"What...n-no, no!" Lucy stomps up to him, her feet creating tiny splashes, "You said it yourself Desmond, they have _snipers_ out there that can _kill_ us! If one of us even tries to leave-"

"I know that," he sighs, "but we don't have a choice..." Desmond's hands curl, "and I'm **not** going back there."

Lucy is looking at him as if he was desperately mad, but she understands at last as if accepting her fate, "Okay, alright then."

"We need to go and split up, go different ways and meet up, somehow. They can't shoot us both at the same time."

"Really? And what makes you think there's only **one** of them out there?" Lucy says, unimpressed, "If there's a second one out there then I'm damn sure he won't miss who ever survived the first shot."

"**If** there is a second guy or more of them," Desmond levels his gaze with her, "then I'm pretty sure the first shots won't be fatal ones because..." he shifts his eye away, "because..."

Lucy immediately replies, "Yeah I get it. And actually now that I think about it," she smiles with confidence, "yeah! I think I know where we can meet up."

"Meet up where?"

"The place isn't so easy to find, it's abandoned. Well, kinda I mean me and the others-"

Desmond picks up a none too distant sound of water splashing behind them, "Just tell me where!"

"The tower," she blurts out, "a tower in the city that's far east from here, you can't really miss it."

The noise grows louder, making Desmond anxious again, "Okay fine, that'll have to do." he replies with haste.

"What? But you don't even know-"

"I'll find it," he tries to smile reassuringly, "you said it yourself right? Can't miss it."

Lucy does not exactly feel the same way. "But...Desmond-"

He grabs her hand tightly, pulling her with him with a few but quick cautious steps near the opening of the pipe to the outside world. Another shot is fired and they jerk back instinctively as it misses them. The noise behind them is now eminent, with a few voices echoing down shouting for them to stop. Before the guards behind could raise their weapons and fire, Desmond gives Lucy's hand in his a gentle squeeze.

"Brace yourself."

And they jumped, gunfire piercing through the air scarcely missed their bodies. Unprepared, they tumble as they land away from eachother just beyond the gutter of the reservoir. Rushing to get back on to their feet, Desmond and Lucy's eyes meet briefly. A look of hesitation, reluctance and fear all in one. Lucy lips move, aiming to say something. But Desmond is too quick to react and pushes her away from him, saving her from yet another sniper bullet that digs into the wall.

Lucy is on her back, frantic eyes dart from the small, newly formed hole in the wall and then at Desmond, who's already backing away from her. "R-Run..." his eyes and lips seem to quiver, before he raises his voice, "RUN LUCY!"

Desmond turns and breaks off into a sprint into the nearby trees and bushes, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He knocks into a few leaves and branches, swiping them aside with his arms wildly. He knows he is only a few feet away from her, still running, before he is already consumed with regret. He wished he had stayed beside her, helped her up on her feet even. He knows he shouldn't be slowing down now, not when there was the definite chance he'd be shot down. A couple of more misfires ring into the air behind him as he is cloaked in the shade of the trees.

He wants to keep moving, he needs to but his feet betray him, and he slows down to take one look over his shoulder. Desmond catches his breath and turns fully, bobbing his head around, trying to get a better angle from where they landed. He is relieved when he doesn't spot Lucy there on the ground where he left her. But as luck would have it, seconds later he feels his heart drop. Another bullet fires through the area, and a shrill scream of distress follows.

"Lucy!" Desmond cries, but no sooner does he try to take a step forward another bullet buries itself into the ground, disturbing the growth near his feet. And he knows he has no chance of going to her now, he was given his second chance to escape. His hands are angrily clenched, as he quickly decides to run off once more.

The path he takes is unknown, but Desmond lets his feet guide him none the less. All he could think about was running away now, running far away from them and that dreadful place. The chase is still on, he hears scuffles and bushes being pushed past moments after where he was. But no voices are heard, only the sound of his pursuers inching closer. Desmond is terrified of being caught again, being thrown back into that machine that poked at his brain and induced torturous amounts of pain for hours he no longer could remember. The very thought sends a small renewed burst of energy inside him, Desmond continues to run for his life.

His clouded mind is soon broken, as a sharp pain rips through his left leg, forcing him to buckle. Desmond cries out as he falls on to the trunk of a tree for support, his hand instantly grabs at his wounded leg. He dares to take a look. It's not fatal or life threatening from what he could tell, but damn...it still hurt like hell. The bullet scrapped his leg, tearing his jeans and skin. He takes a deep breath and focus', literally dragging himself from one tree to another but it was heavy task.

The gash started to bleed out, Desmond could feel the fabric of his jeans around it becoming damp and sticky in his blood. But he presses on, tries to walk it off. Desmond is not sure if it's the fact that he's so exhausted from running, or that the bleeding has made him weak, but he begins to feel dizzy. and he mistakes a far off tree being close in front of him to lean on to and trips.

Desmond yelps, barreling down a small slope The mud and leaves coat his body once he comes to the end of the hill. He seethes in pain, but lays there for a while to recover. Too tired to move. With his vision still blurry, he hears the echo of voices from the top of the hill just around the place he fell. They are confused, angry with one another, before they are distant again.

He groans, crawling on his back to sit up, then slowly rising to his feet bitterly. He wipes the muck from his face first, then trudges on through what he could only assume now was a disclosed, near by park area. Feeling the burning sear in his leg acting up as he walks, Desmond lets himself be lead from tree to tree. What ever he could lend on to momentarily. His body is aching for rest, but his mind is far off trying to remember what his goal was.

_'Tower...the tall tower,'_ he reminds himself, _'West? No...she said it was...east...'_

Desmond finds himself soon in the open, slightly away from the green and near a some sort of barrier. A gate before him and beyond it a street. Buildings and cars portray things that are all familiar. But he doesn't have time to relax. He needed to be where Lucy would be, somewhere safe and hidden, he trusted. Desmond is walking through sheer will power, no longer feeling his mind and muscles are on the same wavelength.

Yet again, the wound tears at his nerves, running up and down his leg. Desmond accidentally adds too much pressure on to his left leg and he finds himself abruptly face planting the ground. His whole body is squirming on the floor, writhing in agony as his leg muscles continue to throb and constrict.

Desmond can feel the sweat dripping from his forehead, his eyes watering. He moans, "God...fucking damn it all..."

He crawls over to a tree that looms over him, shadowing him completely. He sits and leans against the bark, not caring who sees him. Not that he _believed_ any would care to look. His whole body hurts, as if it's practically yelling at him that he's overworked and overdone it. Without much care for anything else than his current position, Desmond holds himself hoping to ride out his pain to recovery. Or at least be able to move again.

_'I'm so tired,'_ his eyes flutter, _'I'm just...so tired...so tired right now...I can't...'_

He holds his eyes open for a few seconds longer, holding a sorrowful gaze at nothing. His lips twitch, barely recalling how dry they've become as they try to form words. He allows his head to sink forward, before collapsing on to his side.

* * *

**Author's Note: **No beta. For all those that were curious, Clay's wolf design was based on a Tundra wolf (that I forgot to mention in the last chapter). Spent all night editing this and going back and forth, I do hope this chapter was worth the wait for some of you.


	10. The White Wolf

The sun was beginning to set, day turning into night, and in the middle of the busy city a crowd of people formed around on the side of a bus stop stand. Heads perked up and those sitting down began to rise, as the vehicle turned to pull over for them. Silent and collectively, they shuffle to the doors only to have their heads turning again to the screaming voice beyond them.

"Get back here Auditore!" a man shrieked fiercely, running down the street and accompanied by others, "Bastard! I am not done with you yet!"

"Ahah! Not a chance," came the reply from another man, who had ran far enough from the angry mob to turned and faced them head on. He grinned in confidence, hands on over the vest on his hips, "though I guess you could use a little work out, eh Vieri?"

Vieri glared, "I swear Ezio, when I get my hands on your throat I going to kill you!"

"What was that?" Ezio cooed, acting foolish and placed a hand by his ear, "I can't really hear you from there, you have to come a little closer than that!"

He laughs and it only aims to annoy Vieri further, who's pace gains sudden speed. Ezio ceases his laughter, smiling at himself before realizing he had to run away again. "Ah crap," he mutters under his breath.

His feet take him stumbling down cross roads and paths he had never seen before, or some that made him believe he had been running in circles. But as long as Vieri and his gang didn't catch up to him, Ezio felt untouchable. That did not mean he felt invincible though. His legs started to give, making Ezio slightly clumsy on his feet. He could feel his muscles tightening despite knowing he was far ahead of his pursuers. But that being the only priority in mind, Ezio made no effort to dodge the on-coming hand that reached out for him from the side of an alleyway.

It grabbed tightly with a fist full of Ezio shirt, jerking him from the collar and away from the sidewalk. Ezio went with a startled cry, his own hand latching on to the wrist of his stranger. His rising confusion and temper instantly softened at the sight of a familiar face.

"..._Federico?_" the intertwined hands all let go at once, "Fuck, you scared me!" Ezio smirked, "You could have just warned me you were around the corner, you know." He gestured his hands.

"Really?" Federico folds his arms, "Are you not supposed to be alert of such things? Or does the scent of your own brother grow dull on such a weak nose."

"_Fottiti,_" Ezio sneers quietly, "Vieri was after me again, suppose he's got something to against me?"

Federico merely chuckles, "You're not impressing anyone, really, baby brother. Everyone knows Vieri is slow, and I was tracking you down on your little 'escape' back there. And let me tell you," he shakes his head, "not impressive, again. You've got a lot of work to do if you want a chance to even stand out with the big boys."

Ezio's smile drops, "Like...what?"

"Well, for one thing, you didn't even notice me grabbing you."

"Oh, that's nothing to worry about-"

"You're _supposed_ to be faster than those humans."

"I am!" Ezio waves his hands in the air, "They didn't catch me, and I lost them. What is the big deal?"

"The big _deal_ is..." Federico moves closer, laying both hands on his brother's shoulders, "if they catch you, we're done Ezio, yes? Our big secret," Federico waved his hand away, "out." he sighed heavily, shoulders sagging and withdrawed from Ezio, "It's like I got to teach you the ropes all over again or something."

"I can take care of myself, fratello." says Ezio, glaring at Federico's back, "All this...this...bullshit of hiding and running away," Federico raises his head curiously at him, and when he does Ezio continues, "It's pathetic, you know. And I didn't even change once when he was after me!"

"But you were going to...I bet." Federico said, and Ezio looked away from him. Federico gaze softened, " Ezio, I know you're not exactly at your prime yet, but you were slacking after a few miles. I noticed, believe me. Wait...why were you in that area anyway?"

"Uhh..." Ezio grins sheepishly, "To piss Vieri off again?"

Federico didn't buy it, he frowned at his little brother. "No, that's not always the routine, I'm not blind." He edges closer to Ezio, who tried to move away. Federico tipped his head side to side, leaning over his brother with one sharp sniff before it dawns on him. "You...you were with her again. Cristina, weren't you?"

"...maybe?"

"_Ezio!_" Federico groans, "We've been through this as well already."

"Hey! You can't talk!" Ezio snapped back, "You've been wandering around at nights with your damn tail between your legs too!"

"Never after the same girl though," Federico notes, "and she's human...let's not go down this road again, please? Father will-"

"Father doesn't have to know," Ezio pressed, looking dolefully at his older brother who seems unconvinced otherwise, "forget tonight ever happened aaaand...we can all go home happy, si?"

Federico's arms return to fold against his chest, a now hardened look at his younger brother before momentarily blinking away, "You are sure Vieri didn't see you or follow you far enough?"

"I admit, I do not catch the scent of that bastard anywhere near us." Without a care, Ezio smiles and shrugs to himself, "He's long gone, no need to worry."

"Good," replies Federico, "then we should head home, father wants a family meeting and I was sent out to find your sorry behind."

Federico gestures to leave and the pair soon start walking out from the alleyway, "A family meeting?" questions Ezio, "This is...rare. What is this about exactly?"

"I don't really know but..." Federico tenses beside him, "you hear dark rumours lately about...this city. And about our kind. The latest being that our people have been getting..." the words escape from his lips before Federico gets a chance to even say them. Ezio felt nervous by his brothers behaviour, he felt a small prickle go through his skin.

"Getting...what?" Ezio asked.

"Murdered...kidnapped." Federico says quietly, "We don't know who or why but...I've seen father and mother speaking with others lately and sometimes they even breaking down before him. And then I heard it...the words sons, missing. Family members not returning home. Gone without a trace with no scent to even follow. It's crazy! It's as if they vanished into thin air."

"That's..." Ezio scowls in disbelief, "That's not possible. They don't know us. Human's don't know...they just...don't..."

"You don't believe me, do you?" said Federico as they came to a traffic light.

"What is there to believe?" Ezio snorts, the lights soon changed signaling they could cross, "It won't happen."

"It happened once already and you know this." his older brother warns, both of them being careful to keep to themselves and to keep together, "All it takes is for one stupid fool to ruin it for all of us."

"True," Ezio nods in agreement as they turn another corner, "but it's not an easy thing to bear."

* * *

It was an excruciating feeling to wake up to. With his chest aching, and his whole body as heavy as lead. Though he knows he's woken up to probably worst, all Desmond wants is to fall back to sleep in the end. But his eyes are already beginning to flutter open, in a trance he was no longer able to fall back on to as his body slowly awakens.

On his side, he turns to the sky firstly expecting to see a clear, white ceiling above him where the lights hung. The same, cream coloured walls thick around him - but not today. _'...clouds?'_ Desmond squints at the sight of white and blue high above, his eyes adjust. The stench around mundane and damp, nothing out of the ordinary simply. He would have been more alert if the smell wasn't rotting garbage or the lack of hygiene.

But his leg was...unnaturally warm. In fact, his whole body was.

_'My leg...that's right,'_ memories start to take shape, click and piece together in his head, _'I'm not...there anymore. Clay and Lucy are...'_

Desmond sits up, or tries to. He feels a weight below his body and spots a bulk of white fur lying near his wounded leg. "...Clay?" he says and is ignored. But a pink _tongue_ flicks out from that bulk and on to his wound, and it's all Desmond could do not kick the creature out of shock. He lets out a yelp, flinching and scrambles away frantically.

"What- What the hell!?" Desmond seethes, he beings hyperventilating. His eyes fix on to the beast before him, a white wolf, and he cringes. "Fuck...no- no! Fucking...get away from me!" he shouts through panted breaths, "I've had enough of your fucking kind and all the shit...that's been going on...enough! Just please..."

All the while the creature is calm through Desmond's hysteria, and remains in its place slowly standing but kept its sharp, hazel glazed eyes on the man. It rears its head lower as if it was examining Desmond. "That's funny..." the wolf's voice is deep, and Desmond freezes, "coming from a whelp like yourself." It reveals its fangs, forming into a tight grin under the black and pink gums.

"Did...you just...no," Desmond nervously laughs, "n-no...you just... you talked?"

The nostrils of the wolf flared, "Did you knock your head into the ground before I found your weakened state, or are you really that stupid?"

"I am not-" quickly, Desmond stops himself and takes a deep breath closing his eyes, "...Abstergo must have done something to me...didn't they? Something in that machine of theirs, there's a wolf in front of me talking...I'm talking to a fucking animal."

Desmond hears an upset growl and his eyes instantly reopen. The wolf seemed...unappreciative of his choice of words. "I didn't _need_ to save your sorry hide back there you know," it says with its teeth bared, "I could have easily eaten you had I not realised you weren't just some dead dog."

"A dog?" Desmond lets out a defeated moan, "No...fuck this, I'm not going to have a conversation with an animal for God's sake...this is insane."

"Calm," the wolf said, "you really must have hit your head harder than I thought pup. Get on your paws."

"My...paws? My legs?"

"No, your paws."

"I...I don't..." Desmond started to mumble, the wolf looked at him with impatience. Skin and fur wrinkled, expressing irritation.

"Here, the water." The wolf then gestured with its front paw. A puddle beside it, "Look."

And of course, Desmond did hesitate. He wanted to continue to lie in his own idea that what he was witnessing was just fantasy. Make believe, there was just no way. Maybe he was still back in that little white room having another bizarre dream, or that he was placed into the Animus again tweaking with his brain. This he wanted but...

Desmond swayed forwards, his legs feeling...detached from his body as he rose. He almost buckled had he not quickly regained his balance. That's when he knew that something was not right, he began to believe that there was something abnormal with himself. Behind him, something kept lightly brushing against his legs. His hands and arms did not feel like they were there anymore, did not feel like they were his and yet they were - as if he was possessed. Having an abstract, out-of-body experience. The closest he could describe this moment was as if he was crawling. And that his hands were unable to move and touch his face.

Desmond was trembling now, because he knew that if he'd just looked down to the ground...

_'N-no...no...'_

...light grey fur surrounded his arms, now acting like a pair of legs. His hands curved into little paws, claws poking out dagger like nails. Not amount of skin could be seen under all that thick fur.

_'This...this isn't...'_

Desmond tried to flex his fingers, in his last attempt to escape the horror but no...they were still paws..._his paws_, and they moved and twitched all the same under his command.

_'This...isn't real.'_

His mind was in conflict, and without a second thought Desmond walked clumsily with the legs he was stuck with to the near by puddle. He just need to see with his own eyes, needed to see for himself what he had become. The evidence under the truth. The white wolf had already stepped aside in Desmond's rush, the patter of feet creating small circles of tremors in the shallow water.

Slowly, with much anticipation, he peered into the water. It held the sky above, the surrounding buildings, and himself yet - it was not himself but a creature. A beast with grey fur covering his entire face and body. Fangs that prodded out from his gaping mouth. Shining little brown eyes aligned to a narrow, black snout. Pointy ears at the top of his head that twitched at any sudden movement around him. Everything that described a beast, an animal, something inhuman.

A wolf.

"This isn't me," said Desmond whispering to himself. Every little detail, the shake of his head and the frown on his face, the wolf in the water simply mirrored them all, "this just can't be...me." Desmond took a few steps back, feeling the weight of his fate a heavy burden to bear. He could feel it, himself and his world slipping into feint madness.

"I...Abstergo did...they did this-" Desmond turned to his only companion, only to find him long gone. In his brief panic he paid no attention to anything else, absorbed in his own chaos. The sound of debris broke through momentary silence, and he glanced up at a figure scaling the scaffolding of a worn down apartment.

"Wait," Desmond called out, craning his neck, "hey...stop!"

The figure had their hand on the ledge of the next level aiming to climb had Desmond's voice not ceased their actions. The stranger faced him, eyes hidden under the fabric of a hood. It was not the white wolf, of course. But their presence...lingered. For all Desmond knew he could have been talking to this person all the while, he couldn't tell the difference. Not now anyway. The strangers stance high above Desmond sagged, a relax composure.

Desmond found himself staring for a long time, "who...are you?" he asked.

"...Me?" a smile curled on their lips, the lower half of their face exposed to the sunlight. But that's when Desmond saw it, a glimpse even. A thin line running down the right side of their pursed lips. A faint scar. "Altaïr," he replies, "not that we'll ever meet again."

As soon as those words escape his lips, Altaïr made his way climbing up fast to the next level and disappeared from Desmond's line of sight before he could even try to stop him, leaving Desmond's mouth hanging open. He stood there on all fours, as if he was waiting for Altaïr to return.

"Altaïr..." he breathed. Clay's voice echoed shortly after in his mind.

_'Lucky dog_...'

Desmond took a deep breath and sighed, holding back a soft chuckle. "Finally found you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Again, no beta. This was kinda rushed, if you can tell. It was supposed to be much longer but it was already taking up too much of my time so I decided to seperate them for the next chapter. Anyway, finally! New characters (sort of). Desmond is based off an ordinary grey wolf/timber wolf. As for how their clothes seem to vanish when they change? I'm not going to really explain that, they just do (basing this off Wolf's Rain still) lol. Also, might be needing more time again to work on their modern clothing. I know for Ezio I prefered his AC2 outfit what he first wore really (the vest/waistcoat and shirt), and then for Altaïr just...something similar to Desmond. If I can be bothered, I'll work on this and show some pictures.


End file.
